


Godlike

by Cymry



Series: Godlike [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Godlike (Roleplaying Game), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Best Friends, Established Relationship, Hurt Bucky Barnes, M/M, Mental Instability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Superpowers, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-01 15:52:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15777246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cymry/pseuds/Cymry
Summary: War changed forever when a flying man carried the Olympic Torch in 1936. This is a world where superpowers are just a matter of having the will to warp reality itself. Steve Rogers has the will. So does Bucky Barnes.CURRENTLY BEING EXPANDED AND IMPROVED9th June: Chapters One - Three updated





	1. Willpower

**Author's Note:**

> Godlike is a Tabletop RPG (funny shaped dice and all) but focusing on superheroes in WW2. And given that, how could I not put Captain America and Bucky Barnes in there? In the world of Godlike, anyone can gain superpowers, usually through sheer will, or a life-threatening situation. They are known as Talents.

The world changed forever when a flying man brought the Olympic Flame into Berlin. Konrad Rahn was no trick. And when it turned out  _ Der Flieger _ was no fluke either, then the race was on to find more like him. You didn’t have to be a military genius to see the benefits of a man who could fly, or turn invisible, or lift a tank over his head. All you had to do to make a Talent was find the one lucky son of bitch in a thousand that turned reality on its head to save his skin. Or you could be the stubborn sort of guy that just didn’t know when to quit, even with bleeding knuckles and a busted lip. As soon as Bucky heard about that, he knew that it was going to be Steve.

When the papers started talking about America’s first Talent, Bucky had been down in Portsmouth. Not an hour later he was on the train to London being interrogated by suits. What was Steven Rogers’ background? What were his politics? His occupation? Who were his girlfriends? Bucky was good at keeping a straight face.

What he didn’t get was answers. Even a simple “how’s Steve doing?” was met with closed mouths. Everything was under wraps until that night and the papers were thin on details like just what Talent Steve ended up with.

“They’re making quite the production of it all,” said the good-looking agent waiting with him in the wings. Agent Carter had eyes like a sharpshooter and red lipstick that kept drawing Bucky’s eyes to those nice lips. “We all have our part to play.”

Bucky would have like to say something about wanting to actually meet the other actors - nothing wrong with letting a beautiful agent think you were smart - but then he was being half-pushed up the stairs and onto the stage. Flash bulbs were going off somewhere beyond the bright stage lights. Briefly he thought of the flash of gun muzzles, but then he saw him.

Steve was lowering a motorbike carefully onto the stage, handling it like it weighed no more than a stack of books. Bucky was shorter than Steve now, smaller across the shoulders and chest. But God, that face Steve made when he spotted him was exactly the same. The way his mouth parted just a tiny bit, the way his eyes locked onto Bucky’s - that was all still the same. And the cameras caught the exact moment Bucky burst out laughing.

***

Eventually they shed the press and generals and agents. At least the ones they could see. Before he was plain Steve Rogers, Steve was Captain Steven Grant Rogers and before  _ that _ he was America’s first Talent, codename Shield. That made him valuable to the war effort, different to how he was valuable to Bucky.

He watched Steve make his way back from the bar, pausing just for half a second at every gap between people or tables to make sure his strange, new body would fit through.

“You’d have thought they’d warn a fella,” said Bucky, accepting the offered drink.

“It took a while to get used to it.” He filled his half of the corner and more, but Bucky didn’t mind. The bar was crowded enough that sitting close like this was nothing remarkable. “They wouldn’t let me write you.”

“Censors would have got them anyway. And I got nothing out of the suits.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault. And either way I’m the forgiving type.” He took a sip of weak, wartime booze, running his eyes over Steve’s new broad shoulders and trim waist. “So long as you’re okay.”

“More than okay.” Steve extended a hand palm-up. Not even he was dumb enough to hold hands in public, so Bucky was at a loss until Steve pressed his fingers against the healthy blue veins in his wrist. His pulse beat strongly under his skin, stronger and warmer than he’d ever been. His eyes were still the same blue and they shone.

“Normal, healthy heart,” said Steve. 

“The asthma?” said Bucky into his drink. To voice these thoughts to Steve’s face would break the spell.

“Gone. Anemia, gone. Scoliosis. Astigmatism.”

“Your bad ear.”

“That too.”

Bucky’s fingers were still on Steve’s wrist. Maybe he got a little stupid sometimes too, and that’s why he squeezed before he let go.

“We should drink to that, Rogers.”

***

When they got back to the hotel, Bucky had drunk enough to make him bright-eyed and talkative. Steve was sober with his new metabolism, but that was fine. It meant that his new memory could work at its best to relearn Bucky’s crooked smile and his walk. When he threw his arm over Steve’s shoulders it made a new angle. From the moment Bucky had shipped out to the moment he’d stepped onto the stage, it had been the longest they’d been apart.

Bucky probably had his own room somewhere, but Steve wasn’t going to begrudge sharing.

“Nice digs,” said Bucky. He’d taken his jacket off and flung it over the nearest chair. “Think you could fit our old apartment in here.”

“It wasn’t so bad.” He thought that once he had Bucky alone in a locked room - bed entirely optional - he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. But now that they were here, he was torn between touching and watching. “You were there.”

Maybe their old place had been drafty and the inside of the windows had frosted over in the deep of winter. But it had been filled with Bucky’s laughter.

“You sap.”

“I know.”

In the end it was Bucky that crossed over, his hands settling on Steve’s waist. Bucky had to look up at him now. He’d expected some line or tease to come out, but his generous mouth curled up and he said,

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Buck. And I wanted to tell you about this. I look different now.”

“Might have noticed.”

“And you’re okay with it? I know it was all women for you except for the old me-”

“Steve, I knew who you were the second you looked my way. The rest of it-” His warm breath ghosted over Steve’s mouth, smelling faintly of liquor. “-I don’t mind it.”

That first kiss rapidly became desperate. Alone in his bunk Steve had conjured fantasies of them meeting again, going soft and slow, Bucky exploring every inch of his new body with him. But he should have known it would end up like this, fumbling at buttons with trembling hands. Bucky got his shirt off first since he had no super-strength to hold back and his hands were everywhere.

“C’mon, Rogers,” he said, rocking his hips against him. “C’mon, handsome, it’s been so long.”

Steve got him around the waist and it was so easy to haul Bucky off his feet. That first shocked gasp gave way to laughing and he was still laughing even as Steve put him down on the bed. In the end they didn’t have the patience for anything more than rutting against each other, collapsing together in a sticky pile and breathing hard.

“The first thing everyone else asks,” said Steve once he could see straight again, “is what powers did I get.”

“Your Talent is being a pain in my ass and you’ve had it since you were five years old.” But Bucky kissed him on that sensitive spot on his neck and laughed when he shivered. “I bet you got a little speech brewing about how no superpower’s going to keep us apart, you giant sap.”

“That’s slander.” His hand ran down Bucky’s side, relearning the geography of him. “Love you, Buck.”

And just like in his fantasies Bucky said,

“Love you too.”

***

So Talents were a resource like bullets and steel. The people at the top wanted more. Optimism, of a kind, spread through the officer classes. Out of every disaster you could net yourself a Talent or two to turn the tide elsewhere.

Bucky had promised himself that he’d keep an eye on Steve out there, but some Nazi Talent had dropped thick fog on them all and they were fighting blind. Bucky found himself alone, surrounded by muffled voices and the far-off sound of gunfire.

He crouched down in the leaf mould and mud, rifle held close to his body. Steve had been out in front, but the idiot probably ran straight at the nearest target. How many times did Bucky have to remind him that he wasn’t bulletproof? He chose a likely direction and started to move, keeping low. Even so his back prickled and his heartbeat was loud in his ears. He stepped on something soft, an outflung arm in US Army green. Not Steve, thank God.

The first shot went winging over his head and Bucky was moving before his brain got caught up. Another bullet hit a tree, bark raining down onto Bucky. He fired back and was that a scream? Christ, where was Steve? His heart felt like it was in his mouth.

He ran round the other side of a tree and bumped straight into a German soldier. The German tried to step back to get a shot in but Bucky followed him and whacked him with the butt of his rifle. He felt nothing really when he shot the guy even when he was on the ground clutching his bloody mouth.

When Steve got his superpowers he’d done it screaming in pain on a recruiting station floor while he grew an extra foot and packed on the pounds. But when it happened to Bucky it was just like opening his eyes.

He watched the man he shot die and he watched his heartbeat stop. Bucky was suddenly aware that he was surrounded by people, hearts beating fast in fear and anger or stuttering out as they died. It wasn’t hearing or sight or any sense Bucky had been taught at school, it was something all his own. A Talent.

“Fuck me,” said Bucky into the fog.

There was one heartbeat different to all the others, so Bucky went after that one, skirting around fights that he could sense but barely hear let alone see.

Steve was fighting a German with hands full of lightning. All the films said that Talents could detect other Talents and, if the sparks weren’t enough, Bucky could feel the buzz of the German’s Talent in the back of his head. Steve delivered a punch that Bucky felt in more ways than one, sending Sparky tumbling backwards. Just to make sure, Bucky shot him through the head.

“Where the hell is your gun?”

There was a scorched handprint on Steve’s cheek and his uniform was singed. Fighting hand-to-hand like that was such a fucking Steve move.

“It’s a long story, Buck.” He pointed to his left. The fog was thicker there and there was a feeling like a cold shower from someone’s Talent. “But if we don’t get this fog lifted, people are going to die.”

Bucky knelt and took the pistol from the fallen German Talent’s belt.

“He’s got four people with him.” He held out the gun to Steve. “You should take this.”

“How do you know that?” said Steve, wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“It’s a long story.”

***

“How many clustered up that way?”

He pointed up past Bucky’s left. Three men were huddled together, still shivering from the fog and passing a flask between them. All this was happening behind Bucky’s back so there was no way that he would know unless…

“Three,” said Bucky without taking his eyes from Steve’s face. “Like this.” And he sketched out a rough triangle in the air. Behind him another man approached the three and started negotiating for a pull on the flask. “Four.”

“I guess that proves it then.” Steve put his hands on his hips. “You hear heartbeats.”

“Kinda. It’s not exactly hearing, but that’s close enough.”

“But I don’t feel you using it.”

“Huh. I thought all Talents could feel other Talents.” Bucky pulled his jacket closer around him against the chill. “I got yours. Like the sun coming out.” His mouth quirked upwards in one corner. “Did that get your heart going? You are so easy,” he said lowly. Steve’s hearing was good enough now to pick it up.

“I see this is going to get old.”

“Let me have my fun, Steve. I won’t get to be in your Talent trick-pony films with my little, incredibly useful power.”

“I couldn’t deal with your swelled head if you did.”

“I’m not so bad.”

“Let’s see how you are after you get a gaggle of scientists fawning over you.”

***

Bucky Barnes never got to go in front of those scientists. They called it the Theft of the 107th, when half the regiment were stolen by Hydra teleportation Talents.

The first to go up to the isolation wards was John McColl - codename  _ Tawny Owl _ \- who could see in the dark and went all translucent at night. That kind of thing was hard to hide from the guards. The second was Adrien B. Lloyd - codename  _ Razor _ \- who used his Talent for cutting through material to start an escape attempt. Neither of them were seen again.

Bucky pretended he couldn’t sense heartbeats. The isolation wards were bad news that was for sure. And he was safe as a fella could be while working as Nazi slave labour right up until Arnim Zola appeared. The tubby man with his fussy, wire-rimmed glasses made a slow circuit around the factory floor. Bucky would have figured he was inspecting the progress on the bombers were it not for the fact he was using a Talent.

Jones had taught them a little German on the sleepless nights in the cage. What Zola said when he pointed at Bucky was,

“Bring him.”

He fought of course. He’d been the one who taught Steve how to punch. But he was half-starved and there were a lot of guards. One of them whacked him over the head with a baton and that’s all he knew until he came to with someone slapping his face.

“Sergeant Barnes. Wake up, Sergeant Barnes.”

There were tiled walls and a metal ceiling above him. He was tied to a padded table, leather straps crossing over his forehead and chest and limbs. The air stunk of disinfectant, the taste of it lingering in his mouth. Zola came into his view.

“He wakes.” His heartbeat increased, hammering excitedly away. “Good evening. I am pleased to have found you, Sergeant Barnes, very pleased indeed. I am always requiring more material for my work, but Talents are still so uncommon. You have a minor Talent, that is true, but even little minor skills can be useful. My own Talent, yes, is very minor so I know.”

He beamed down at Bucky. Bucky tried the straps but there was no give at all.

“You talk too much,” he hissed.

“You’ll forgive me such things in my excitement. This is all new to you, I know. Perhaps if I explained my Talent first? My Talent is that I look at people and I just know if they have a Talent or not. Not so useful when Talents can sense most Talents anyway, yes? But very useful when they are like you. A stealth Talent we call people like you. Undetectable even when using it. Understand? Are you using it right now? My Talent tells me what your power is also. Finding heartbeats will not be particularly useful in this situation I think you’ll find.”

There were two more calm hearts in the room with them and further out hundreds more penned together. None were Steve’s. No doubt he’d be looking for him.

“So as to the reason you are here. I am Dr Arnim Zola and I study Talents. Non-German Talents that do not exist according to the High Command. Officially. But we at Hydra are more practical.

“You see, Sergeant Barnes, the self is a chain. Even when you obtain a Talent, there is a little part of you that says ‘I can detect heartbeats, but nothing else’ or ‘I can lift a car, but no more’. But my theory is that such Talents can be improved by breaking the self. Should you survive the process, of course. Do you have anything to say before we begin?”

It looked like he wasn’t going to see his fella again. But hopefully one of the guys would tell Steve that Bucky had fought when they came for him, that he had been brave. And when the war was over and Steve found himself someone who liked the artistic type, he’d think of Bucky and be proud. Because the best thing about Steve was that he would square up to any wrong, no matter how big the problem or how big the other fella. 

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Three-two-five-five-seven-oh-three-eight. March 10th, 1917.” And at least there was enough slack in his bonds to flip Zola the bird.

“If that is how you wish to play this. Weber?”

Turned out one of the other heartbeats in the room belonged to a giant stuffed into a black uniform. Bucky recognised the face. He’d seen the same face on the worst of Steve’s bullies, the kind who didn’t smile when they hit because causing pain was so routine for them.

“Weber, we shall begin with the simplest methods, yes? Take five minutes with the Sergeant.”

***

“You’re looking for Barnes?”

Steve dug in his feet against the stream of freed prisoners and faced the man with the bowler hat.

“You’ve seen Bucky?”

“They took him upstairs. No one comes back from there.”

He said more, but Steve was already moving towards the stairs. He had to believe Bucky was alive. If he was dead, he’d know. For that he went on even as muffled explosions started to shake the building.

The floor up here had been hosed down and it didn’t cover the smell of old blood. Doors had been left open on sad, naked corpses and worse horrors. By the time Steve saw the little, round-faced man scurrying away around the corner he almost ran him down. But then he heard a familiar voice, echoing off the tiles.

“Sergeant… Three two… Five five seven…”

“Bucky!”

Bucky lay strapped to a padded table and someone had brutalised him. Even Steve’s perfect memory refused to take it in, leaving only the impression of the horror done to the flesh that Steve loved. One of Bucky’s eyes opened, the long lashes caked with blood.

“Steve?”

“It’s me.” He wrapped a hand around the biggest strap, the one across his chest, and tore it from its moorings. “It’s me, Buck.” His gloves were covered with grime and blood by the time he got the last one. “I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to move. The building’s coming down.”

Steve tried to be gentle, but Bucky screamed when he got him on his feet, and he half-carried, half-dragged Bucky down towards the exit.

“Though I was gonna die,” Bucky slurred through split lips. There was a clean track through the filth on his face where tears were flowing.

“I promised I’d protect you.”

Outside the former prisoners had commandeered Hydra’s strange weaponry and turned it onto the enemy. Bucky lifted his face towards the hot wind.

“Shit, Barnes.” It was the bowler-hatted man, followed closely by the men who’d been in the cage with him. “What they do to you?”

Bucky’s one open eye gleamed in the firelight. He shook in Steve’s grip.

And then the three Nazi Talents appeared.

They had a teleport Talent with them and their arrival broke the last remaining windows. Talent clung to them all like fog.

“Take him.” Bucky tried to clutch at his arms as Steve passed him over, but he was so weak and hurt. “I’ll hold them off while you get away.”

“But we can-”

“Go!” And Steve was running towards the other Talents.

One was small and chubby, one was built like a linebacker, and the other was medium build and wore glasses. Chubby set in front of the group so Steve shot him first. Two bullets crumpled against stony skin so Steve changed targets and shot wildly at the other two. Missed of course, but he made Glasses use his teleportation. He reappeared behind Linebacker and Steve brought his gun up to fire just as Linebacker opened his mouth.

The sonic attack torn up the ground under Steve’s feet and he almost fell. But he was the only thing in between the Talents and Bucky. So he dragged himself forward against the battering force, all his super-strength focussed on withstanding. Linebacker would have to breathe at some-

And then Bucky was there, one hand around Linebacker’s throat, hauling him up into the air. The sonic attack cut off instantly. Bucky’s face and his one visible eye were blank and terrible. With a squeeze he broke Linebacker’s neck.

***

**I was later told that these were the Talents TUNNELBLICK, SCHLOSS, and BLASKAPELLE [see Appendix One]. I ordered a retreat. Morita and Jones offered to cover me with HYDRA weaponry, but I refused. I told them I would hold the Talents off alone and that Barnes and the other wounded would need the cover more.**

**I fired on the enemy, but my shots were stopped by SCHLOSS’s defensive Talent. BLASKAPELLE used his sonic attack at that point. When I went to draw him away, Barnes broke free and**

  
  
  


General Hayes put the report down, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It doesn’t work in print,” said Rogers. He looked in much better shape than a man could expect after taking on an entire army by himself. The medical types across the road told him that Rogers healed very quickly. “I tried drawing it too, but it was the same. No one remembers, sir.”

“So what you’re saying is,” he said, bringing one finger down onto the typed papers, “that this report does not just end. On this page, there is in fact a through action report of Sergeant Barnes’ new Talent. But the only people who can remember seeing it, or read about it are the people who were there with you.”

“Some of them, sir. The retreat was underway-”

Hayes held up a hand.

“So we have a new Talent that’s apparently utterly undetectable, aside from how many people?”

“Six, sir.”

Hayes imagined a tank or a plane that only six people in the world could perceive. A battleship with all the trimmings. Or hell, something out of the pulp magazines even. How would he even know? War had gotten complicated after 1936.

“Sir? I was wondering if I could see Buck- I mean, Sergeant Barnes.”

“I’m told Sergeant Barnes is not receiving visitors at this time, Captain. He’s under quarantine and heavy sedation according to the reports that I  _ can _ remember.”

He did not add  _ until we decide what to do with him _ because Captain Rogers could lift jeeps and punch holes in heavy armour. Certain words were being thrown around.

“Perhaps this memory thing will wear off and in that case you and the others will be required to make a full report.”

“Yes, sir. I believe that…”

General Hayes had the privilege of seeing one of America’s most powerful Talents gape like a fish, before he realised that there was someone standing by his shoulder.

“ _ Sergeant Barnes _ ! How did-”

“Steve,” slurred the man. He wore a hospital gown and yards of bandages. He swayed on his feet, halfway to collapsing. Rogers ran round and caught him. No doubt he did so carefully, but the other man still cried out. No surprise. The medical reports that Hayes could remember had listed the bruises, the stitched-up cuts, the burns, the needle marks. No wonder Rogers guided him gently into the chair.

“How’d you find me, Buck?”

“

            ” he said, which Hayes promptly forgot. His head nodded once, twice, then he shook himself awake. “Where am I?”

“HQ, Buck. We got you here after you                                                   . Sir?”

Hayes tried not to start after this latest bout of forgetfulness.

“Take him back to where he came from, Captain. We’ll try this again later.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Rogers turned and lifted a grown man into his arms like a baby. He must have been feeling it too, but he didn’t complain.

After they’d gone Hayes sat back looking down at his reports. He wasn’t a medical man, but he knew that a dose of Blue 88 was supposed to put a man down for at least twenty-four hours. And there was Barnes, already wandering around after… what had happened. No one liked to think of American boys being tortured, but there was no doubt as to what had happened according to the surgeon. And as to why…

Sergeant O’Malley had gone mad over on New Georgia and gotten himself superpowers much stronger than usual. Decapitated his captain with a single punch for ‘murder’ when returning fire at Japanese forces. Tore apart battleships with sheer strength and a sort of heat-vision from his eyes. They called people like that Mad Talents. Rumour had it that the Russians had lost control of one at Minsk and now it killed whatever it found, Nazis or Russians.

O’Malley was now in Petaluma Sanitarium missing part of his brain, and the word  _ lobotomy  _  had come up here too. God help the person who had to tell Captain Rogers.

***

Army camps never truly slept, especially after the influx of casualties from Azzano. But there were stars in the sky and the walk across the street to the Funny Pages was relatively quiet. The 236th Field Hospital had gotten the name because of the number of Talents it had patched up. It faced HQ across the street, one a boy’s school, the other a girl’s school, both abandoned by the war.

Bucky felt like ice in his arms, even with the loan of Steve’s jacket. His breathing was harsh and thin, a familiar noise to Steve. He’d heard it often enough out of his own mouth.

“Almost there, pal. Almost there.”

As soon as Steve stepped through the front door of the hospital, he was swarmed.

“There he is!” “How did you manage-” “Thank you, Shield!” “Sergeant Barnes, you shouldn’t have-”

Steve felt Bucky tense in his arms and he took a quick step back.

“Is there a gurney or something? I carried him all the way from the General’s office.”

One was produced - though being placed on it made Bucky even tenser - and some of the crowd filtered off, presumably to call off the search.

“Thank you, Captain,” said the surgeon. He looked tired, like all medical staff usually did. “Please get some rest, we can handle it from here.”

“Doctor, I have the sedative ready.”

At the innocuous sight of the nurse in her whites with her little metal tray, Bucky immediately tried to lever himself off the gurney. Being half-sedated already meant he didn’t get very far, not with Steve’s hand on his shoulder.

“He was falling asleep on his feet when he got to the General’s. Maybe if I went to sit with him for a bit, he wouldn’t need more of the stuff.” He tried the smile that always worked on Bucky. Post-transformation it seemed to work on a lot of women too.

“We are running low, Doctor,” said the nurse. She was blushing as she lowered the tray.

“What are we not running low on? Fine,” said the surgeon. He rubbed a hand across his face. “See if that works. But if he goes wandering again-”

“He won’t. I promise.”

Steve did the helpful thing and pushed the gurney down to Bucky’s room. Quarantine meant he got his own tiny room, a former store cupboard. The bed was wedged in, taking up most of the space. Steven had to slide into the remaining gap and lower Bucky down onto the mattress.

“There’s chairs in the hall just there if you want one,” said the blushing nurse.

“Thank you.”

“Thank  _ you _ , Captain. Half the men here were rescued by you.”

When Steve returned with the chair, Bucky was sat up again, slumped half-over. He was gingerly running his right hand over his left arm, looking at the bandages in dazed disbelief.

“Steve.”

“You should go to sleep, Buck. Lord knows they’ve given you enough stuff for it.” With the chair in place and the door closed at least there was a little privacy. The noise of the hospital was reduced to a low muttering. So Steve felt safe enough to touch his fingertips to Bucky’s cheek. “For me?”

“Got to tell you something first. About before.” There was no slurring in his speech. “It’s what they did to me.”

***

There was a different kind of torture in the quiet moments when Zola or his assistants stepped away to rest or to make notes. Bucky held his breath then and wondered when the next blow was coming.

“Dr. Zola.”

This voice was new and it didn’t come with a heartbeat. Only the click of bootheels as the owner crossed the floor.

“Yes, Herr Schmidt!”

“How is your patient?”

“My assistants and I have been faithfully following the schedule and I believe that we will soon be at the tipping point. Watch.” A hand touched his shoulder and Bucky hated the way he cringed from that touch. “He cannot hold forever. But I was wondering,” he added, voice quavering a little, “if the plan to release him afterward… was entirely... Would he not be more useful under our control?”

“Mad Talents,” said the calm voice of Herr Schmidt, “are godlike but hard to control. Send him back to the Americans first, and let them waste resources on a viper in their nest.”

And then he appeared in Bucky’s eyeline, his face like red leather stretched thinly over his skull. The eyes measured him up.

“Have Weber bring the electrodes in now. And inform me when the experiment is done.”

***

Bucky’s eyes gleamed in the dark like something half-feral, alert and not foggy at all. Steve had never seen that look before.

“They fucked with my  _ brain _ , Steve. And they meant for me to come back.”

“But Zola was running when I got there. They hadn’t finished. Some time here-”

“Don’t be stupid!” Bucky tore away from Steve’s hand, pushing himself into the corner “It was just the heartbeats before. Where’d the other stuff come from?”

Despite himself, Steve thought of Bucky with his hands calmly wrapped around Blaskapelle’s throat. He’d heard the bones crunch.

“I’m dangerous, Steve. I need to not be here.”

“Who’s being stupid now, jerk? You hated the sedation and you hated being on that gurney. But what did you do? Just ran away to find me.” Bucky looked so tired, his frantic energy gone again. “Look. They might think they know Talents. But I know Bucky Barnes.”

“And if-”

“Bucky.” He got to his feet, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out. He might have been called Shield for his new size and strength, but now the offered shield of his arms was more important. “Whatever happens, I’m with you until the end of the line.”

“You got no goddamn sense,” said Bucky as he half-collapsed against him. In seconds he was sleeping the deep sleep of the heavily sedated.

* * *

 

**APPENDIX ONE: TALENTS REFERENCED IN PRECEDING REPORT**

**DER FLIEGER (“The Airman”) aka Konrad Rahn**

**First known Talent. Flies at speeds exceeding 800 miles per hour with no ill effect. Known to utilise his sonic boom to attack Allied aircraft.**

**ZOLA, ARNIM**

**German Talent attached to PROJECT HYDRA. Can detect Talents in others even when not in use. Also receives information such as what Talent is possessed. Currently at large.**

**TUNNELBLICK (“Tunnel Vision”)**

**German Talent attached to PROJECT HYDRA. Could teleport himself and up to an estimated 10,000 lbs of men and equipment, but only to places he could see. Deceased.**

**SCHLOSS (“Castle”)**

**German Talent attached to PROJECT HYDRA. Could make himself incredibly durable as long as both feet were on the ground. Deceased.**

**BLASKAPELLE (“Brass Band”)**

**German Talent attached to PROJECT HYDRA. Could create sonic attacks by taking a deep breath and rapidly exhaling. Deceased.**

**SCHMIDT**

**Possible Talent holding a high rank within PROJECT HYDRA. Powers unknown at this time.**

**SHIELD aka Steven Grant Rogers**

**First American Talent. Possesses an enhanced physiology including stamina, strength and memory.**

**BARNES, JAMES BUCHANAN**

**American Talent. Powers unknown except to six other people due to amnesia effect. Refer to PROJECT PETALUMA.**

 


	2. The Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who's reading this! I hope you're enjoying this alternate take on WW2. Please let me know what you liked and what I did wrong. :)

Since Bucky had graduated from shouldn’t-be-walking-but-had-to wounded to plain walking wounded, he got the privilege of waiting in a line to see the doctor. And since Steve had swanned into Azzano that meant the lines were long and loud. And that meant that there were a lot of eyes to see Bucky trying to -

“-mean she’s cute and all, but I hear she spreads it around if you know what I mean.”

“Shit, I could use a charity girl for-”

\- keep it together. Between the nightmares and the constant pain that the pills didn’t take away for long -

“-mentally, the lights are on but nobody’s home half the time.”

“Well, someone higher up makes those choices-”

\- and _then_ this new thing, the super hearing that he couldn’t tell the doctors about because all but six people forgot his Talents, Bucky was losing it. And he knew that people knew because he could hear them talking about it from two floors away. Just like O’Malley, very sad, not Barnes’ fault but-

Down the corridor some private leaning back on his chair went too far back and fell. The scrape and clattering of wood on tiles-

 _There had been people watching, and not just Herr Schmidt with his skull-like face. They would throw Zola questions, make notes, and sometimes, sometimes the chair would scrape against the floor and they would be above Bucky, looking down at the_ specimen _, at the_ experiment-

“You okay, pal?”

He was back in the corridor, cringing. His arms were thrown over his head and his battered body was screaming at him to change position. Maybe he’d screamed, honestly Bucky didn’t know. The fella next to him was leaning slightly away, arm up. Bucky didn’t think he was okay. Not by a long shot.

He was saved from having to answer by the nurse sticking her head around the door and calling his name. Too late for the staring though. He felt the eyes on him as he pulled himself to his feet, body protesting all the way. One foot in front of the other was how he got back from Azzano and that’s how he got himself in front of the doctor. If he wanted, he could cast his net wider and have Steve’s heartbeat in Talent range too. He was somewhere off in the camp, maybe in range of this new kind of hearing too. The thought was reassuring.

Doctor Morgan had set up in an office overlooking the camp. Only one of the small windows was open, making no headway against the powerful smell of disinfectant.

“Hello, Sergeant Barnes,” said Dr Morgan. He smiled in exactly the way you’d expect a fella to smile at you if he spent all his time talking about how unstable you were when he thought you couldn’t hear. “How are you today?”

“I can’t breathe in here, your nurses won’t give me enough pain pills, and none of you think I’m fit for much but dribbling in my own shit for the rest of my life,” was not what Bucky said.

“Fine.”

Morgan stared at him and Bucky met his gaze right back. It was kinda like being called to the principal’s office. Both he and Steve - heart beating strongly somewhere off to Bucky’s right - had had a few trips there. Steve got into more trouble though: he’d never quite mastered bold-faced lying.

“The bruising in your face has gone down significantly so I’m satisfied that you’ve not cracked the orbit.”

“ _I’ve_ not cracked the orbit? You want to take that up with Hydra, pal,” was not what Bucky said.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, I suppose.” Morgan got up and walked round his desk. He smelt of soap and that goddamn disinfectant again. “Roll up your sleeve. I’ll take your blood pressure.”

Bucky was right-handed but he rolled up that sleeve anyway. His left arm had gotten more attention from Zola because-

_“You are still needed to do damage for Hydra so we will leave your dominant hand for now. But the left- ah, the left. You need that one not so much do you-”_

“-Sergeant Barnes.” And Zola was leering at him from the shadows, glitter of a syringe in his hands so Bucky threw himself towards everything familiar.

***

Steve thanked his CO politely, because that was how Sarah Rogers had raised him (the fighting he’d come by himself mostly). Leaving the tent, he had barely a second to think about how he was going to talk to Bucky before he saw the man himself. One of the MPs was standing there too, snapping his fingers to get Bucky’s attention. But Bucky was far away and sick with shivering.

“Hey, Buck?” said Steve, not-so-subtly putting himself between Bucky and the other man.

Bucky’s eyes met his instantly. When he lifted his chin, Steve could see the necklace of bruises around his neck where, amongst all the other horrors, Hydra torturers had choked him. Steve’s hands curled into fists of their own accord.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he said, keeping his voice light. “Let’s go.”

He kept his pace slow for Bucky, heading vaguely in the direction of the hospital. The school had a running track out back and Steve had found he enjoyed running now that he had this new body. Maybe Bucky would be calmer in the fields with the starkly-lovely winter trees.

Bucky was tugging the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands. Before, in Brooklyn, Steve would have felt the November chill way before Bucky did. He started to slide his jacket off.

“Buck-”

“You’re being sent back out tomorrow. First thing.”

Bucky looked at him, eyes flicking down to the jacket.

“I just thought you were cold.” He draped the jacket carefully over Bucky’s shoulders. “But I am. How did you know?”

Bucky wrapped himself in the folds, not hiding how he buried his nose in the collar.

“I got… a new thing.” A new Talent that Hydra had forced on him. “I can hear things. Far away things like…” He pointed down the row of tents to a small knot of soldiers. “I could hear them speaking like I sent my ears down there. Like I’m standing right there.”

Steve added it to the mental list: Bucky’s original heartbeat detection, teleportation, increased strength, and now remote hearing.

“I tried asking for you.”

“I know.”

“But you’re not ready. We both know that.” He risked a long look at the stiff hobble that Bucky got around on where he used to swagger. “Are you going to be okay? Wouldn’t you rather take the ticket home?”

Bucky drew it a breath and expelled it in a plume of white.

“Then who’d look after you? You staying up tonight?”

“Yeah, Buck, I am.”

***

Bucky’s tiny room was almost warm after the November chill. At least Steve felt warmer when he saw Bucky. He was sat at the end of the bed and got up with a groan when Steve approached.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Hey, Buck.”

The single bulb in the ceiling picked out the shadows under his eyes and the yellow and green bruises and the stark, black stitches. It was almost worse now that they’d left the dressings off most of it.

“You got all your stuff ready?”

“Peggy’s picking me up early so…” He reached out for Bucky’s face which was mostly safe now that the swelling had gone down on the one side. “I’m going to keep asking for you and she promised to help. I’m not… I don’t want any other Sergeant.”

“The Army might not give you a choice.” But he smiled. The split on his plush bottom lip was healing well. “You always did have good taste.”

He lifted his head and kissed him. Bucky tasted of bitter hospital coffee and it tasted like home. Steve curled his hands around Bucky’s hips. At the touch of his fingers, Bucky broke the kiss with a hiss.

“Sorry!”

“It’s fine, handsome, it’s fine.”

He nipped at Steve’s jaw, then captured his mouth again. Both his hands - the right and the still-bandaged left - came up to rest on his shoulders. This time Steve cradled the back of Bucky’s head in one hand. Bucky’s own hands crept upwards… until the left spasmed painfully open.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said, stepping back to cradle his wrist instead.

“Bucky,” said Steve. He put his own hands together in front of him so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch that fragile, healing skin. “We don’t have to do this. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He didn’t expected Bucky to laugh. One single unhappy bark of a laugh and he started to claw at the hem of his shirt with his good right hand. Slowly every inch of the new blasted landscape of his chest was revealed. There were the deep bruises of injections sites. There were the burns where the skin had bubbled. If Steve closed his eyes - if he could close his eyes - he was sure he’d hear the building shake itself apart.

“Ain’t it a little late for that, Steve? Everything hurts.” Bucky’s hand traced the long row of stitches on his stomach. Back home, Steve had rested his head there on lazy Sundays while the radio played. “If it’s going to hurt anyway, might as well feel something good. And I think you need it too.” His eyes were hooded. “I see you looking at me and it’s like you gotta punch somebody.”

They had made Steve come to Bucky’s debriefing so that Bucky would stay. And the more details he’d heard, the more he’d wanted to hurt Hydra. The technicians Weber and Fischer, the doctor Arnim Zola, the Talent with the skull-like face Herr Schmidt - he wanted to pay them back just half the pain they’d inflicted. They’d taken his Bucky - beautiful, clever, loyal Bucky - and done all those things to him for what? To prove a point? To prove a hypothesis?

“I don’t want to look at you like that.”

Steve put his hands on the small of Bucky’s back. The skin there was smooth and whole because they’d tied him down on his back, but Steve pushed that thought down.

“That’s my best guy,” said Bucky and closed his eyes when Steve touched his cheek.

“If it really hurts, I want you to tell me.”

“Demanding little asshole, aren’t you?”

Steve had to laugh. Before Bucky shipped out and after the Stark Expo, Bucky had switched between sweet nothings and threatening him to stay safe goddamn it. Tonight he got Bucky laid down on his better right side. When he breached him slowly with the first Vaseline-covered finger, he made a soft whine in the back of his throat. But he twitched his hips to encourage Steve on.

“Steve, Steve, Steve,” he whispered before he brought his fist to his mouth.

Tonight he pressed kisses to the wings of Bucky’s shoulder blades and softer ones to his bruised neck. And afterwards he helped Bucky roll onto his back, half-falling off the narrow bed to keep them close.

“You okay, Buck?”

“Yeah.” His left hand reached out and spread out on Steve’s chest, just above his heart. “It’s not normal to be though, so soon after, right?”

“You’re still not moving right.”

“I shouldn’t be moving at all. But the doctors don’t think anything of it. I broke a man’s neck with my bare hands just ten minutes off the table. Tell me that’s normal.”

“It’s not.” The split in Bucky’s lip was gone now. Steve added faster healing to the list. “But I… I said superpowers wouldn’t change anything between us and I meant both of us too. You’ll always be my best guy.”

Bucky put his head on Steve’s chest and Steve put an arm around him in return, holding him like a precious thing.

***

Bucky still went to see Steve off, his body aching, but not enough to regret asking Steve to fuck him. Maybe fuck was the wrong word for Steve’s sweet mouth on his back and his fingers gently opening him up. It had been like that in London, once they got past the frantic stuff. Proper goodbyes having been concluded last night, they said goodbye as friends.

By her heartbeat, he thought Carter was either steely cold or she’d already seen the files and the pictures they’d taken of him. What her heart did do was speed up a little when Steve looked at her. Bucky didn’t blame her. His fella was a good-looking guy.

“Take care of this big lug for me, Carter,” he said, holding out his hand. She had a good handshake. “He doesn’t know he’s not bulletproof.”

“He does not,” she agreed, and it made Bucky happy to make a beautiful woman smile.

Then Steve climbed into the jeep and was gone. Bucky went up to the roof and sat on a square merlon watching the tiny jeep vanish and then chased Steve’s heartbeat with his Talent until blood started to pound in his ears. That was it. Steve was out of his eyesight, out of earshot, and all the Talents brewing in Bucky’s pain-ridden body.

Steve would insist on Bucky’s return and the Army would do everything in their power to stop that. After all Bucky was _crazy_ , absolutely _bugnuts_. Unfit for anything but the padded cell in Petaluma.

Maybe he should have told Steve, but it would have hurt him without increasing his odds of getting Bucky back. It was up to Bucky now to get his shit together and act as sane as fucking possible. Because Steve needed… Steve needed someone to watch his back and it had to be Bucky. Only he knew the utmost importance of not letting the war grind Steve down and hollow out his eyes. And he’d have to do it without getting one or the both of them blue-ticketed, which would mean Petaluma in the end.

No wonder he was crazy.

“Hey.”

A gangly guy was climbing up onto the roof, his hands and feet sticking to the wall. That Talent, and his big, bulging eyes, had lumbered him with the codename Gecko. He’d been brought into the hospital just about paralytic with combat fatigue. Unlike Bucky, Blue 88 and rest had done its work, and Bucky hated him for it.

“You got any smokes?” said Gecko (what was his real name?).

“I don’t smoke.” They set off Steve’s asthma, no matter how many medical cigarettes the doctors pushed his way. And there were always so many more things that they needed, doctor’s bills and rent and iodine for Steve’s busted knuckles.

“Really?” Gecko made a ‘tch’ noise in his throat. Must be nice for your worse problem in this entire goddamn war to be a lack of smokes. Maybe if Bucky threw him off the roof and then went down and stole a gun and set himself amongst the people like a fox in a henhouse- But those weren’t Bucky’s words.

“But isn’t it true?” said Zola, so close to him he could feel his sour breath on the back of his neck. Just last night, Steve had kissed him there with his warm, sweet mouth.

“Shut up,” he hissed into his forearms. He folded himself into a ball, stitched wounds and healing burns protesting.

“Compared to you, these minor Talents are like fat chickens ripe for the slaughter. Hydra made you into a hunting hawk, I made you into what you are so that you could be our viper in the US Army.”

“Shut up shut up-”

“If we wanted you would go to your faithful Shield and break him. And I would bet, yes, that he wouldn’t raise a single finger against you as-”

Bucky screamed. He scrambled to his feet, but he’d stressed his Hydra-tortured, biologically-reeducated body and his legs failed him and he tumbled right off the roof.

There was a moment where Bucky seemed to hang suspended and weightless. Then he ‘ported right to the ground, gritting his teeth when he met it.

Zola’s high-pitched laughter echoed in his ears, but not loud enough to block out Gecko.

“Fucking nuts.”

***

“How are you today, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Fine.”

Dr Morgan pursed his lips. His pen flew across the paper in front of him.

“I want to take out some of your stitches today, Sergeant.”

“Sergeant Barnes.”

“Mm.”

Bucky kept his eyes on Dr Morgan and not the shadowy Zola figure lurking behind him at the window.

“You’re healing well,” said Morgan, skipping completely past the why.

“We know why that is, do we not, Sergeant Barnes?”

“And there doesn’t seem to be signs of infection, Sergeant.”

“Hydra’s gifts.”

“Nurse? Bring in the tray.”

“Here it is, Sergeant!”

Nurse Stanton sounded too chipper, shading into shrill. She was a cute kid, but Christ, Sergeant Barnes, Sergeant Barnes, his name was Bucky.

“Officer Morrow was kind enough to help carry it for me,” said Stanton.

Officer Morrow, Military Police, was a solid square of a man and Stanton could have carried ten of those trays. Morrow also didn’t leave once he handed it over. Instead he leant against the wall with his arms crossed. Just for a moment his khaki uniform turned black.

“Oh, don’t worry, Sergeant,” Stanton smiled, her lipstick the shade of blood.

“Sergeant Barnes.”

“This won’t hurt at all.”

“I know it hurts, Sergeant Barnes, but it’ll be all worth it in the end,” said Zola right into Bucky’s ear, and he turned to see light glimmering off a blade.

***

“So tell me what happened here,” said Hayes, bracing himself for the answer.

“We don’t remember,” said Doctor Morgan. Predictable. He had a fine cut on his forehead which he kept touching.

“So tell me what you _do_ remember.”

The place was a mess. Shattered chair, shattered desk, one broken window. Oh and of course, one nurse in hysterics and one military policeman out of commission with concussion.

“We were going to remove Barnes' stitches. We were pleased with how they were progressing.”

“And how was he?”

“Tense. Quiet. One of our other patients said he was screaming up on the rooftop this morning.”

Hayes rubbed his mouth. O’Malley had gone over all in one go, normal soldier to super-powered mad man in the time it took one grenade to go off. Clearly some of these Mad Talents needed a running start to get going.

“Where’s Barnes now?”

“Barricaded himself into his room, I hear. Captain Rogers calmed him down before.”

“Captain Rogers is not available right now to play nursemaid.” Hayes sighed. “If you had to put him out of action and _keep_ him out of action, could you do it?”

“You mean Petaluma.”

“I’d rather have one vegetable dribbling his life away in a padded cell than dead soldiers on my conscience.”

“Well.” Morgan felt out the cut again. “The first time we sedated him, we gave him the standard dose of Blue 88 and he ended up in your office. I could up the dose, use something different.” Morgan’s lips thinned. “I might end up killing him.”

“What’s the difference in the end?”

Hayes pinched his nose, suddenly tired. War had gotten more complicated after 1936.

“My Hippocratic oath. But yes, I think I could get something together. Sticking the needle in him on the other hand…”

“Just let me handle that.”

Just because they were talking two floors up and three rooms across, didn’t mean that Bucky couldn’t hear them.

***

Walter Ballard, also known as Gecko, was sitting with his legs dangling out of the window. He had been warned about this, but with his feet firmly stuck to the wall, who cared if he slipped off the window frame. The night air was a poor substitute for a cigarette though and the matchstick he had clamped between his teeth was not helping.

His room overlooked the running track and the fields beyond. At this time of night there wasn’t much going on in the hospital grounds unless they brought in new patients. All that was out there were three people coming in from the night.

“Hey!” he called down. “You got any smokes on you?”

They paused, looking up to his spot on the second floor. Then one of them gestured for him to come down.

That was the last mistake Ballard ever made.

***

So forget the blue-discharge and forget Hydra, Petaluma was a sure thing. Bucky wasn’t totally the Army’s creature: he was not going to sit here and wait for them to come for him. Already he’d got all his stuff together - spare clothes, half-eaten Red Cross parcels, the picture of his folks and Steve. What he didn’t have was a destination.

Steve was probably not an option. He was not going to drag Steve down to be fugitives together. Even a brief flying visit would mean he’d risk prison. And either way he didn’t know where Steve had fetched up. Steve would understand, Bucky had to believe that. Underneath the teasing and shit-talk, Steve had the biggest fucking heart and all of it for him.

Two heartbeats had been waiting either side of his door and both of them started to fall. Bucky heard the thump. Was this a trick? His barricade was makeshift, two chairs wedged under the handle. The Army could get through it easy, but it was only meant for a warning so that Bucky could use his new teleportation and get away.

It was somehow harder that all his new Talents were useful.

No one started to try the door so Bucky turned back to his bag. And there was Steve, standing next to it.

“Hey,” he said.

“Steve? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see you.” Steve beamed up at him. The shirt he was wore was half-open: Bucky could see the wings of his prominent collarbone and his skinny chest. “You look tired.”

“Christ.” His legs ached and his head was so very heavy. He hadn’t slept right since London, when they’d slept pressed together, sharing breath. “Yeah, Steve. I’m so tired.”

“Don’t you want to sleep? Right here.” He patted his thigh. Those big, warm hands felt so good on his back, and moving through his hair.

“Sleep.”

Bucky drifted closer. Steve looked up at him so full of goddamn love.

“Sleep. Right at my feet.”

“Sleep,” Bucky said again. He leant against Steve’s warm broad chest. “Steve, I want, I want…”

“You can have it when you go to sleep.” His cold fingers slid into Bucky’s hair.

“Steve…”

Warm chest, cold hands.

Two heartbeats outside but none in here with him.

“Steve, you ain’t really here.”

His body was suddenly awake, the fog of fatigue lifted. Steve was not here. Bucky jabbed himself lightly in the long, stitched-up wound on his stomach and flinched from the pain.

“Okay,” he said to the empty room, “let’s see.”

He teleported through into the corridor. Two MPs were asleep on either side of his door, one curled up on the floor and the other slumped against the wall.

“Hey, pal,” he said to the sitting-up one.

His hands were hanging limply between his legs: Bucky took one and gave him a good pinch on the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger. All he did was sigh out the name “Dolly” and slide further down the wall.

“Some fucking guard you are.”

The hospital was quiet. But there was one heartbeat he could feel moving around up on the first floor. Bucky knelt by the MP again - and fuck he hurt all over - and took his pistol. Most Talents could still die when they got shot and hadn’t Bucky killed some already?

He took a shaky breath. Maybe a bit of Steve’s luck - the kind that got him through pneumonia and a thousand fist fights - had rubbed off.

He ‘ported straight up with his finger on the trigger. Probably would have got the guy if he hadn’t slipped on the ice. He barrelled into someone’s legs, tripping them too.

“Was zur Hölle?”

Bucky got a glimpse of a handsome face with glasses knocked askew, but then other man kicked him right in the big burn over his ribs and Bucky nearly threw up. His gun had gone somewhere.

“Weg von mir!”

Bucky threw a clumsy punch that nevertheless snapped the other guy’s head back. But his hand got Bucky’s arm - so cold it burnt. Bucky scrambled to his feet and then leapt backwards to avoid a razor edge of ice. His body twisted like a cat’s mid-air and he landed on his feet. Another new thing.

“Scheisse!”

The German threw more ice, surrounded with jagged spikes of it, but Bucky had spotted the gun. He ‘ported behind and snatched it and when the German turned he lashed out and snapped the fella’s leg.

“Tesseract!” he screamed and suddenly Bucky was fighting two Talents.

The new guy, Tesseract… It was almost painful how much he resembled a younger Steve. Blond, blue eyes, skinny as hell. But he was surrounded by long tendrils of blue energy and they dissolved the ice and carved out holes in the wall. Fast healing wouldn’t fix that.

If the ice fella hadn’t been having trouble using his Talent with his busted leg then Bucky would have been dead. Even then he had move in ways he didn’t know he could, bend backwards and leap off walls and go from teleporting straight to leaping. His hand shook with pain and his fingers had gone numb, but he got lucky and squeezed off a shot that hit Tesseract square in the shoulder. Bright blue blood splashed against the wall.

What followed was like sensing another Talent, but like how a gentle shove could be compared to getting hit by a freight train. Pain, enough to drown out what Hydra had done, gripped him. His hearing went. His mouth filled with bile. And the ice Talent was affected too, sinking to his knees and mouth open in a silent howl.

Tesseract staggered backwards, clutching his shoulder. His red, teary face was briefly visible before all that blue energy wrapped itself around him and took him away. Hearing returned in a rush of air, and before the chillier one could get any ideas Bucky shot him in the head.

He slowly lay down in the slush and ice, his body shaking. It hurt. Oh God did it hurt. Somewhere on his body, somewhere far away, something was bleeding and it was the only warm thing on him.

“Sergeant Barnes.”

This was all he fucking needed.

“Wake up, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Go away. You’re not real.”

“Aren’t I?”

He stood in the corridor, the toes of his shiny shoes were just beyond the melting ice.

“You got no heartbeat.” Bucky lifted his head, cold water dripping from his hair and chin. “So you ain’t here.”

“I’m real enough to your mind.”

Bucky put both of his palms on the ground. Just a little more of Steve’s luck would do. He pushed up, gathering his legs underneath him. Inch by inch, he got up on his knees. The dead man had the top of his skull missing and a Hydra insignia on his arm. In his belt was a Hitler Youth knife. Bucky drew it.

“Now, Sergeant Barnes, that won’t do you any good.”

“Makes me feel better.”

“Yes, doesn’t it? You know why this is, do you not? It is because of your purpose, Sergeant Barnes. Maybe not a natural-born killer, but a manufactured one.” Zola tipped his head to one side. “Aren’t you enjoying the new powers I gave you? You defeated Einfrieren and drove off Augapfel.”

The word echoing around Bucky’s head was Petaluma.

“You tortured me.”

He got up, torturously slow, dragging himself up. Instead of Petaluma, Steve was in his head all curled fists and “I can do this all day.”

Zola was suddenly another ten feet away, still with that prissy little smile on his face.

“There is no innovation without sacrifice. No order without Hydra. And you could be Hydra’s best weapon.”

Bucky went after Zola, one foot in front of the other, and then Zola was around the corner. He had one hand on the heavy oak bannistar, the entrance hall with its photos and names of students behind him.

“Why bother lying to yourself? You can never be less than what you are now.”

“I’m not lying,” said Bucky, keeping his eyes forward on Zola. The swastika on the knife handle dug into his skin. “I know I’m crazy.”

“A beautiful Mad Talent,” said Zola. A smile halved his face like a wound.

“But I’m not Hydra’s. You know what happened? I got stronger and faster. I got more like Steve. You just made me into Shield’s man.”

And when Augapfel pulled the trigger, Bucky was already behind him, driving the knife into his back.

Zola shimmered and vanished. Augapfel dropped his gun. He was nondescript. Medium build, medium complexion. Stealth Talent, the first other one Bucky had met.

The wide oak banisters had been polished by generations of schoolkids. Bucky grabbed Augapfel by the hair and slammed his head against it. Again and again and again.

“Fuck you,” he said to the ruin he’d made, letting the body fall. His hands were bloody and his shirt was bloody and his face was bloody. And down in the lobby soldiers were flooding in and pointing guns and Bucky couldn’t even bring himself to begrudge them that.

He was crazy after all.

***

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Shield.”

“Likewise.”

“We’ll give them hell, son. Just you wait.”

“Sure hope so, sir.”

When all the handshaking and salutes were done with, only Steve and Peggy were left in the tent.

“I’m sure they said those codenames were for classified use only,” he said with a rueful smile.

“It probably played well to cinema audiences,” she said. The table was covered with maps and she traced a river with her finger. “Are you sure you don’t want to go over it once more? You were a little distracted.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We called it shell shock during the last War,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him, “People do recover.”

“The hospital’s the safest place for him, I know that. But,” Steve leant on the table looking down at a Europe neatly measured and pinned down on paper, “I didn’t think we’d be separated again so soon.”

Bucky had always had a good sense of timing and for more than the dancehall on a Friday night. So it should have been no surprise that in that moment he popped into view just above the table. He hit it heavily, collapsing it under his weight, and went straight into a seizure.

Steve had been a sick kid who’d met other sick kids. He shoved his jacket under Bucky’s head and he and Peggy held down his rigid limbs until he stopped shaking.

“I’ll get a medic,” said Peggy. Her palms were streaked with red. “It’s other people’s blood, Steve,” she added as she swept out.

Steve could hear her barking orders outside, but his eyes were fixed on Bucky. They’d always been. Bucky’s were closed. His skin was frozen and Steve ran his hand up and down his arm, trying to put heat back in. Before there hadn’t been a handprint on his arm, picked out in angry, red skin.

“Steve?”

“Hey, Buck. Stay still, you can’t move yet.”

“I found you.” Bucky’s hand curled round his wrist. Used to be Bucky could circle his wrist with his thumb and forefinger.

“You did.”

“Steve.” His eyes were clear and unconfused. “Hydra attacked the hospital. I think they were after me.”

“He’s in here,” said Peggy from above them.

Bucky closed his eyes as the medics swarmed him.

***

Of course, Bucky wasn’t going to let Steve go by himself and kept ‘porting back to Steve’s side until everyone got the message. A doctor had come along, but Bucky didn’t mind. As doctors went this Jenkins fella wasn’t bad: he’d been generous with the morphine.

“Well, as fascinating as it might be,” said Jenkins from far away across the other side of the truck, “this amnesia effect does make it hard to treat you. So talking in complete non-specifics, did you use a power or powers in a way you haven’t used them before?”

Bucky had gotten good at ‘porting around maybe a hundred metres at a time. From the hospital to Phillip’s camp was fifty miles.

“Yes,” he slurred.

“It’ll be the strain then. Talents are all in your head after all. It’s just they can change the world outside it too. Rest and you should be fine, Sergeant Barnes. But try not to do it again.”

Somehow Steve’s warm shoulder had gotten under Bucky’s cheek. With the pain gone away for a while, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Maybe it was the morphine or maybe it was Steve’s presence, but for once Bucky didn’t dream of Zola’s chamber. Instead he dreamt of the tiny apartment in Brooklyn he’d shared with Steve.

Steve was a sweaty, feverish mess on the couch, but he was merely hot against the back of Bucky’s hand.

“You’re a little cooler today,” said Bucky, replacing his hand with the Barnes’ speciality the wet cloth.

“Thanks,” said Steve from the depths of his blankets.

“You’ll be back to picking fights in no time. Thank me by not getting punched too hard.”

“Sorry about this.” The blankets shifted and Steve rose slowly up onto his elbow. “I’ll pay you back one of these days.”

Bucky put one of his - unwounded, unbandaged - hands onto Steve’s damp hair.

“Steve, if I weren’t up for a bit of nursing, I’d have bailed about twelve years ago.”

“Still.”

“Stubborn punk. Sure. You can pay me back, pal.”

“Bucky.”

He jumped, but it was only Steve - the strong and healthy Steve of today - touching his hand. Where he’d leant against him, his skin was warm.

They’d brought two truckfuls of men and Talents, but the attack was over. Covered bodies were laid out on the grass, ice glimmering on the occasional hand that peeked out from under a blanket. One of the bodies were shortened by a head and Bucky thought of his half-packed bag in his room.

General Hayes was outside with Dr Morgan and their eyes just bored into Bucky.

“General Hayes, sir, is everything okay here?”

“Well there’s still some more corpses we have to chip out the ice, a glowing blue material the white coats say we shouldn’t touch, and half the Medical Corp out of commission. So, Captain Rogers, if you come with me- _Leave him_!” he snapped as Steve tried to shepherd Bucky along too. “Barnes will be going with medical. They haven’t discharged him yet.”

“You’re going to be okay?” said Steve Rogers whose forehead he’d once mopped, who’d always been full of righteousness and goodness and stubbornness.

“I…”

Medical were watching him and their hearts were leaping like they were about to go into a fight. Morgan was flanked by the two biggest orderlies. Another doctor, who Bucky thought was called Bell, had a hand behind his back.

“Bucky,” said Steve, turning his back on Hayes, “it’s okay-”

“No, it’s not! Steve-”

“Captain Rogers.”

“-they’re going to lobotomise me. They’re going to stick me in some bughouse in California and-”

“ _Horseshit_ ,” said Haynes. “Wholesale horseshit from a fantasist.”

“I _heard_ you. You wanted them to make me into a fucking _vegetable_!” Bucky ‘ported off to the side and snatched the syringe from Bell’s hand. There was a neat paper label tied to it like a present. He went back to Steve, syringe held up like a shield. “Put me out of action and keep me out of action is what you said. Just like O’Malley.”

“Hors-”

“Is this true?”

He’d heard that tone only once from Steve. Two weeks after they’d buried Steve’s Ma, Billy Harris from round the corner had opened his big, fat mouth about her. The only fight where Bucky had to drag Steve off the other guy. In the here and now, an angry Steve was like a god.

“Is this true?” he repeated, turning his gaze onto Dr Morgan. The doctor took two steps back.

“W-well! We discussed many options. And the- the procedure has come a long since the last century.”

“O’Malley was unquestionably dangerous. He’s much happier as he is.” Dr Bell was so far back he was almost inside the building.

“I don’t believe this! This man just saved your lives. Or did you think Hydra were just playing here?”

“Captain Rogers, please listen-”

“No, you listen! Bucky didn’t have to fight those Talents, but he did anyway. A week after they tortured him! He could barely walk, but he saved an entire hospital. And you were going to repay him by cutting all that courage out of him.”

Someone came up on Bucky’s left but it was only Dr Jenkins.

“Could I look at that syringe, please, Sergeant?”

He didn’t even look offended that Bucky retreated when he handed it over, just read the label with Bucky’s name on it and the long complicated one underneath it.

“Good Lord! You were going to stick him with this? That amount of Spirobarbital would kill him.”

Steve’s hand went to Bucky’s shoulder.

“I want to talk to you all inside. Now.”

And they did. It didn’t matter that Steve was only a captain. At that moment, Steven Rogers could bend the world to his liking.

***

“When you said you were bringing me a new Talent, Carter, I did not expect the Invisible Man. Are we really raiding the intensive care wards now?”

With his bright new bandages, Barnes did remind one of Claude Rains. He and Steve stood over by the truck, not talking but occasionally taking long looks at each other.

“You’ve trusted my judgement thus far, sir.”

Colonel Phillips gave her a look that said he hadn’t forgotten how she’d dropped one of America’s few Talents into a Hydra base by himself.

“Barnes killed two Hydra Talents in that condition, Colonel. By himself. Even if we don’t remember how he did it, we can remember the results.”

“And the crockery?”

Barnes had a tin plate from the mess in his hands and was handing it over to Steve. Steve took two steps backwards and then flung it straight up in the air.

“What’s this meant to prove?” said Phillips, following the plate’s trajectory.

Then Barnes was in front of them aiming a pistol. One shot and the plate spun out of the air, a neat hole in the centre.

Phillips noticed that the holster on his hip was empty only after Barnes gave the gun back to him. As Barnes walked off, Phillips watched carefully.

The Talent codenamed Winter was attached to Shield’s unit.

* * *

 

**APPENDIX TWO: TALENTS REFERENCED IN PRECEDING REPORT**

**GECKO aka Ballard, Walter**

**American Talent. His hands and feet could stick to surfaces, allowing him to climb walls and ceilings. KIA.**

**O’MALLEY, HARRY**

**American Talent. He was bulletproof, could fly, and possessed enhanced strength, and heat vision. Experienced metal break on New Georgia and was referred to PROJECT PETALUMA.**

**SHIELD aka Rogers, Steven Grant**

**First American Talent and leader of HOWLING COMMANDOS. Possesses an enhanced physiology.**

 

**WINTER aka Barnes, James Buchanan**

**American Talent attached to HOWLING COMMANDOS. Power unknown due to amnesia effect. Refer to full file for details.**

**AUGAPFEL ("Eyeball")**

**Talent attached to PROJECT HYDRA. Could create illusions across multiple targets without detection by other Talents. Deceased.**

**EINFRIEREN ("Freeze")**

**Talent attached to PROJECT HYDRA. Could create an area of extreme cold without affecting himself and use ice as a weapon or shield. Deceased.**

**TESSERACT**

**Talent attached to PROJECT HYDRA. Possesses tendrils of blue energy that can disintegrate living and non-organic material. Also possesses a teleportation power, details unknown. WARNING: injuring Tesseract debilitates all Talents within a certain radius.**

**ZOLA, ARNIM**

**Talent attached to PROJECT HYDRA. Can know a Talent’s power just by looking at them without the target actually using their Talent.**

  



	3. The Use and Maintenance of Talents

When Johann Schmidt, Hydra’s Red Skull, demanded the presence of a subordinate he got it. Injury did not matter. He had the boy Tesseract wheeled into his office, watching him quail and sniffle. He at least made an attempt to dam the flow and gave the salute one-handed.

“H-hail Hydra!”

His words echoed around the high ceiling and Tesseract shrank away. He was soft. He had always been soft, from the moment Schmidt had razed his village to the ground and taken him into Hydra. How Fate must have laughed to put such a Talent behind that red, teary face. Schmidt had comfortably purged such things from his system long before he became a Talent.

“Mission report.”

“S-sir?”

“ _What happened_?”

Everyone in the room grew very still. Tesseract cradled his arm close to his body, other hand vanishing into the sling.

“How did three Talents go to a hospital and _lose_ ? Were nurses and sick men too much for you? And how were _you_ the one to survive?”

The loss of Einfrieren and Augapfel was a blow to Hydra. They had embodied all the traits of the ideal Hydra agent - ruthless, effective, powerful. Everything Schmidt valued in himself and in others.

“I know I was not meant to be in the field, sir. B-but I asked Einfrieren if I could go with him.” The boy dug a handkerchief from his pocket and tried to clear his face of the mess. He only succeeded in smearing it about. “I only wished to be of use to him and to you, sir.”

“Intentions do not matter, boy. I am concerned only with results.”

“I… We… Sir, Agent Augapfel had put everyone under with his illusions. He said that they would see someone they loved and fall asleep. But when Einfrieren was using his ice, another Talent… appeared. I c-can’t remember what he did.”

“You can’t remember.”

“I tried, sir, I tried. But he had… some Talent. I cannot remember what he did. And then he shot me.”

“A Talent.”

Schmidt held up his hand and one of his pleasingly efficient assistants brought over the files. The first one had a magazine clipping attached. A large blond man in American dress uniform was holding up a motorcycle.

“Was it this man?” he said, thrusting the clipping towards Tesseract.

“No, sir,” he said as Schmidt expected. According to their intel, Shield had left the hospital, heading to an unknown location.

Shield was the first American Talent as the magazine clipped exclaimed in a delirious state of joy. Schmidt knew all about being first and Shield, if at all possible, would be his in end.

The second file was much thicker, the attached picture a military ID flecked with dried blood.

“This one.”

“Yes.” Tesseract shrank back from the picture, or more likely from the blood. “It was this man.”

Sergeant Barnes in his military ID was a handsome enough man as these things were decided. His mouth was turned up in the corner, giving him an arrogant air like all Americans. When Schmidt had seen him in the flesh, the arrogance had been beaten out of him, and Schmidt liked him better as a whipped dog than as a half-successful experiment. What could have been if they have been given a few more hours? They had proved Zola’s theory of manufactured Talents, but Zola had failed to bring Barnes into Hydra’s control. It was more galling to lose two Talents trying to retrieve or remove him.

“Tesseract. Do you wish to become stronger for Hydra?”

“Yes! Yes, sir, more than anything!”

“Dr Zola has a way. I will take you to him and he will make you stronger. Do this for me and all will be forgiven.”

***

The Commandos got maybe a ten second glimpse of Bucky before they swarmed him. Bucky practically vanished as the other men sought out unbandaged parts of him to slap and punch lightly.

“Jesus, Barnes,” said Duggan. He shoved his way through the pack until he could grab Bucky by both shoulders and give him a shake. “Just look at you. Last we saw of you, you was beat all to hell.”

“And still the best-looking guy out of the lot of you.” Bucky’s mouth opened in a grin. He’d split a lip again in the hospital fight, but it would heal just like last time. And hopefully all the rest would too. “That’s why they let me back in. Someone’s got to class up the place.”

“Can’t believe I missed your smart-ass mouth, Barnes,” said Morita and that got everyone laughing.

“Should’ve just kept it to the one New Yorker,” said Jones, jabbing a finger at Steve. “You know? Your skinny punk friend Steve from back home?”

“Don’t be fooled, Gabe,” said Bucky, tongue briefly appearing to probe at the split. “He’s still the same scrappy asshole he always was.”

“The same scrappy asshole, _sir_ ,” said Steve and laughed as Bucky booed.

He was working on not looking like he wanted to punch someone all the time around Bucky, but it still made Steve angry that they were being sent straight to London. There had been nothing to stop Bucky from leaving the hospital with him the first time, not when they would be there for R&R, PR, and equipping. But it was done now. Bucky was here, limping along in the middle of the pack.

Peggy managed to get them special dispensation for travel so they were driven twenty miles away to wait outside a house with a half-collapsed roof. They only had to wait five minutes before the door opened with a burst of Talent and a man stepped out. He was around Steve’s age with wind-blown hair and pale, ancient eyes. Through the door behind him was the prow of a ship, bobbing up and down on rough seas. When the door closed the smell of the sea lingered in the air for a moment.

“Agent Carter, good morning.”

“Good afternoon,” she gently corrected.

“Ah, of course. And now London time.” He pushed up his sleeve and started to adjust his wristwatch.

“Gentlemen,” said Peggy, “this is Briety Krizova, codename _Pevnost_.”

In 1938, the world had met the second Talent, two years after _Der Fliegar_. Thankfully the same anti-Nazi sentiments that brought him to the attention of the Gestapo put him firmly in opposition to his fellow Talent.

“A pleasure,” said Krizova. Finished with his watch, he clapped his hands and said, “The War Office, Agent Carter and gentlemen?”

He turned to the door and put a hand on it. Talent crawled across Steve’s skin and Krizova pushed the door open to reveal a quiet tiled hallway. He held it open as the Commandos filed through into England, following through behind them.

“Captain Rogers,” he said in his musical Czech accent, “a word, please?”

Bucky paused, but Steve waved him on. He’d be listening in anyway.

“How can I help, sir?”

“Oh, not sir, please. I do not have a rank.” He straightened his jacket, a plain civilian one that might be worn by any young man across Europe. The sleeves were devoid of rank. “Such is life for a partisan.”

“Then what can I do for you?”

“What were you doing before the war, Captain Rogers?”

“Surviving.” Piecemeal art commissions, shop counterwork, a little clerking, all when his uncertain health permitted. He relied on Bucky more than he liked, more than he wanted to.

“I was an university student in Linz. Of course, once the Nazis came…” He shrugged, “It put an end to such things. And half a year later they were in Czechoslovakia.”

“We heard about it in New York.”

“And you heard of the second Talent. More so perhaps than the invasion,” he said with a rueful smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re a young Talent as these things go. Truthfully even I’ve had these powers for only five years now. But a Nazi flying man wouldn’t give you good advice like this.” He draw himself up, which still made him a head shorter than Steve. “It is seductive having a Talent, isn’t it? But you cannot rely on it completely. Through this door, I can be in your American White House in less than a second. Shoot Mr. Roosevelt dead. But I can be shot too. Even by an ordinary man without any powers at all. It’s not so unusual to find Talents out there, Captain Rogers. And I tell them all the same thing. Put your faith in guns, and explosives, and trustworthy people above all else. Just like an ordinary man. Perhaps then, people who are fond of you will not worry unduly.”

Down the end of the corridor, Bucky and Peggy were waiting. Bucky had the wall and Peggy’s arm for support, the flirt.

“No, I don’t want to worry them. If I can help it. This is a war.”

“I am told that you are stubborn,” said Krizova. This time the smile reached his eyes. “And sometimes war is war and our plans do not hold up to scrutiny. But remember what I told you and, if our luck holds, we can go home.”

Perhaps holding Carter’s arm hadn’t been entirely Bucky’s flirting: he looked grey when Steve approached. He took Steve’s arm when he approached and that wasn’t too suspicious with all his dressings. And Steve didn’t mind. Home for Steve had always been Bucky and, if he had his way, they wouldn’t be separated again.

***

They’d been billetted in a nice neighbourhood and Christ weren’t the lot of them the neighbours’ worst nightmare. There was a lot of staring that Bucky felt more than saw as he limped along on Steve’s arm. All around him the world was becoming frayed at the edges, reminding Bucky that he was running on little sleep, one week after getting out of Hydra’s clutches and twenty-four hours after a three-on-one fight. Was this what it had been like for Steve, dragging himself out of bed to work and fight again? But he’d always known that his fella was a stubborn little shit.

Steve sat him down on a couch, telling him to take the weight off, and that was because his fella was also a hypocrite. But maybe the way he sat there, swaying like he was punch-drunk, got everyone onto the sleeping arrangements quickly. It was hard enough keeping himself awake so Bucky let the conversation wash over him until the heard his name.

“I can take the top floor,” he said. Somehow his body had slumped into the cushions without being told too. “Not like I have to take the stairs if I don’t want to.”

“You don’t mind sharing with me?” said Steve.

Last time they were in London they’d been asleep all tangled up together. That was the last time Bucky had felt warm - when only Steve had powers and Hydra was something abstract, a lower priority than your average Nazi infantryman.

“I’m used to you,” was what Bucky said.

Talents were harder to use when you were tired and in pain so Bucky got to the top floor with three clumsy jumps. He had just about enough energy left to kick his shoes off and crawl into someone else’s bed. Still he lay there shivering until Steve came in and whispered “Good night, Buck.”

For the next few days he slept, hours and hours passing while he lay curled up on his side of the bed. He woke up to eat, to use the can, or once for an air raid siren. And everytime he got up he felt a little less pain. He dared to look under the bandages on the second day and nearly sobbed at all that smooth skin he found there.

Of course there were the nightmares too. Sometimes Steve was there, comforting with the new, warm bulk of him and his familiar voice. Sometimes it would be another one of the Commandos instead.

“I dream of it too,” said Falsworth. He put one dignified hand on Bucky’s shoulder, not saying a word about how he was shaking or how he’d screamed his way awake. “I’m back in that dreadful place, but this time the walls of the cage keep closing in until I wake up.”

“Least we’re waking up,” said Bucky. Least Hydra were currently on the other side of the Channel. “The things that fucking happen.”

Falsworth nodded. Nothing more needed to be said.

***

When Steve was finally freed from the latest meet-and-greet he found the house empty except for Bucky. In the bathroom attached to their room there was a big, claw-foot tub and only Bucky’s head was visible above the water.

“How was your thing?” he said, keeping his eyes closed.

“Paraded around for lunch, shaking hands. The usual, you know.”

“I don’t get invited to these things. I get to stay here with all the hot water to myself.”

Steve would rather strip naked and swim to Germany than to tell Bucky some of the things he overheard in the corners of those parties. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Talents invited were the ones with suitably sanitised origins and white skin. If being banished from the Talent trick-pony circuit was the price of throwing his lot in with coloured soldiers and a Mad Talent then he’d pay it gladly.

“You want the bath after I’m done?” continued Bucky. One hand appeared to push back his damp hair. “The others won’t be back until evening.”

“Oh?”

“Oh?” echoed Bucky. There were tiny beads of moisture on his long eyelashes, a drop of water making its way down the side of his face. “Do you think you’re getting _lucky_ , Rogers?”

“Well,” said Steve, his mouth suddenly dry, “I might have hoped.”

Bucky’s mouth curled upwards, slow as honey. That same look had been driving Steve quietly crazy since he was twelve years old.

“Pass my towel.”

He got up out of the bath, unfolding himself gracefully. Bucky was thinner than he’d been back home, but Talent had been at work while he slept. Cuts had been sealed, scars reduced to pale, silvery lines that were fading in turn. Even the burns - the horrible puckered sites like the surface of the moon - were now discoloured patches of skin. Hydra had forced all but one of Bucky’s Talents on him, now they were reversing the terrible physical effects.

“See something you like?”

“Yeah.”

There was a lump in his throat as Bucky slid into his orbit. He was bath-warm and Steve didn’t mind that he was still a little damp. Bucky looking up at him was still a novelty and the bruises were long gone from around his neck.

“You know, I wouldn’t have cared even if you-”

“ _Don’t_.” Suddenly Bucky was across the room, wrapping his towel around his hips. “Christ, Steve. Just don’t.”

He slammed the door behind him and Steve was left alone with a bathtub of water.

***

Dr Zola could not preside over the project in person. Instead he’d been installed in the surveillance room for his own protection. Tesseract’s defensive measures would have damaged his weak body, the support for the mind that Schmidt did need.

“It will be very soon now.”

Zola stared intently at his monitors. Three were given over to the chamber, watching Zola’s assistants and Tesseract. Weber and Fischer were non-Talents and Tesseract could not affect them with his pain. That would not protect them against Tesseract’s disintegration powers, so they had deprived him of sleep and food. They had purposely bled him to weaken him further. Only one avenue was left open to Tesseract and that was the one that he and Zola had made.

***  


Steve came out when the bathwater cooled. Bucky was dressed in a half-buttoned shirt and trousers, blanket over his legs. He was scowling at _Tortilla Flat_ like Steinbeck had personally offended him. Steve had brought that one to their shared pool of books. The cover and the pages up to thirteen had gotten creased when it had been shoved quickly into a pocket.

“Hi, Buck.”

He grunted back, turning a page. His fingers tightened on the green cover for just a second. Then he lowered the shield of Steinbeck down onto his lap. Looking up at him wasn’t so strange when Bucky was sat down and Steve was standing.

“Hi, Steve.”

“I am sorry, Bucky.”

“I know.”

He slid across the bed, gesturing to the empty spot. Obediently Steve sat down, glad he not come out in just the damp towel. He wasn’t sure Bucky liked him in army colours much.

“How’s the book?”

“Not so bad. I liked the one with the rabbits better.”

Having given Steve the space, Bucky now pressed in against his side. He sighed when Steve put his arm around him.

“I wasn’t that mad really, Steve.”

“No? But I had a whole plan to get into your good graces.”

Bucky’s laugh was a soft huff of breath. The page he was on was the beginning of chapter fifteen. _How Danny brooded and became mad,_ read Steve. _How the devil in the shape of Torrelli assaulted Danny’s house._

“I knew _you_ wouldn’t have cared what I ended up looking like. But I would.” His fingers toyed with a page corner. “I caught sight of it in a mirror not long after they brought me in. Smashed it to pieces, know that? No wonder they knew I was crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

“Just mad.” He turned and got up onto his knees, one hand going onto his shoulder. “You think I don’t care that you came out healthy? That my fella’s going to see thirty for sure if I can stop him doing stupid shit?”

“Still sticking with me?”

“Seems that way.” He flicked Steve’s ear. “What time’s the thing with Stark?”

“Seven.”

“Then we got time, don’t we?”

Steve’s favourite places had always involved Bucky from the playground to the fire escape outside their apartment. And of all those beloved places he liked being face-to-face with Bucky, skin against skin. More so since he got his new body. It was more sensitive than before. Maybe because his skin was new, maybe because there was no pain from his aching back and joints to stand in his way. Whatever the reason his body responded quickly to Bucky’s hot mouth on him.

“Please,” he breathed. Bucky’s hands and mouth were everywhere, leaving warm ghosts in their wake. “Please.”

“You should be patient,” said Bucky, appearing above him. His eyes were almost all pupil. “It’s going to be the cold ground soon. No feather beds.”

“It’s not like we had one back home either.”

Bucky pinched one of his nipples so Steve wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist in retaliation. His inner thigh brushed against the trailing edge of Bucky’s worse burn, the one that had gone down to the quick of him. But it was healing and Steve did not mention it.

“I tell you you’re the best looking guy I’ve seen all day?” he said instead.

“Rogers, I’m buckass naked in bed with you. I’m a sure thing here.” Still the corners of his eyes crinkled and his hands slid to Steve’s hips, fingers curling there as if to hold him down. Even if Steve’s body had changed, some things hadn’t. His thumbs slid along the crease where thigh met hip. “Best looking guy, huh?”

“The best,” said Steve.

***

When you got confirmed as an American Talent, you got a shoulder patch. For use off the battlefield, because the front was dangerous enough without making yourself a bigger target. The Nazis stopped putting runes on their people because of snipers like Bucky.

The patch had the white star and the words _We Go First_ , which is what all the assorted freaks do. On furlough the mere glimpse of that white star on a man’s shoulders meant pats on the back; free drinks; and female attention.

Female attention was not something Steve was used to as a former ninety-pound asthmatic. Bucky doubted that he even was interested in it. As far as he knew, Steve had had eyes only for Bucky Barnes since he was in short pants. Lorraine did not know that. Her arms were around Steve’s neck, her chest thrust up against his. Despite having the strength to punch a man into the next county, poor Steve was helpless against the powers of a cute blonde. It was like Bucky had taught him nothing. Well those lips were getting dangerously close to Steve’s so he ‘ported right up to them.

“Captain.”

Lorraine practically jumped out of her skin and Steve took the opportunity to extract himself. God, his ears still turned bright red when he got flustered.

“Stark’s ready for you in his lab,” said Bucky, not bothering to conceal his grin.

“Thank you, Buck.”

“Thanks a bunch,” hissed Lorraine as Steve vanished among the shelves. “You know who that was, right?”

“I know he prefers brunettes.”

And he _loved_ taking it up the ass from brunettes, but Bucky was going to be keeping that to himself. Either way, Lorraine wasn’t going to be impressed with him anytime soon, shoulder patch or no shoulder patch.

He caught up to Steve on his way to Stark’s lab, his ears gone down to pink.

“I’m sorry, Buck. I didn’t see it coming.”

“Not your fault.” He nudged Steve. “I’m proud of you, pal. Finally got a handle on the whole female race.”

“I didn’t do anything. She just mentioned the rescue-”

“Because a single-handed rescue is nothing.” Everyone else’s heartbeats were a safe distance away, so Bucky leant up and kissed Steve on the corner of his mouth. His Talents made him more than a better killer. He just had to make himself believe it. “Just in case you forget what side your bread is buttered on, Steven Rogers.”

Steve touched the place where he’d kissed him with his fingertips. He was so damn cute.

“There’s no chance of that, Buck.”

“Good.”

Howard Stark’s lab was endlessly fascinating, even if he called this one basic compared to the one he had back home. From random tangles of wire and metal came the most advanced stuff the military got. Some suspected that Stark was a Goldberg Talent, but the machines that he made kept working when he took his eyes off them and no one got any Talent off him when he worked. The only miracle here was the tar-like coffee that powered the white-coats.

“Glad you two could join us,” said Agent Carter. Unknown to anyone but her and Bucky, her heart started beating just a little faster when those eyes fixed on Steve.

“Sorry, we’re late.” Maybe he was being a little cruel when he added, “The Captain was meeting with a _fan_.”

Predictably Steve went pink in the face of Carter’s withering look.

“It was really more of a surprise attack,” he muttered.

“Those are the best kind, my friend.” Stark was full of barely suppressed energy as usual. “But hey, let’s not get distracted by Captain Rogers’ luck with the ladies. Let’s see what we got for you, gentlemen.” He clapped Steve around the shoulder and it looked like it was easier just to go along when Howard Stark tugged you along, even with super-strength. “So you’re strong and you’re fast, but bulletproof you are not.”

“I know that.”

Bucky snorted.

“Not according to the peanut gallery over there. But luckily the solution was simple. Staring at us right in a face. A shield for Shield. Now I got a few different prototypes over here. How do you feel about a battery pack?”

There were shields with window, shields with spikes, shield was gauges and switches. All of them looked inadequate against the war across the Channel. One bullet was all it took. At least for Bucky that hadn’t changed from the pre-Talent days. He just had more chance of avoiding that bullet now. And he had to believe that Steve had a better chance too. Would have had a better chance back home, but too late now.

***

Zola stabbed the intercom button and the small room filled with the wet noise of tearing flesh and the broken gurgle that was Tesseract’s voice now.

“Weber, slower now.” He cut off the noise and made a note. “It will be soon. He will not hold out as long as Sergeant Barnes did, but that was to be expected, yes.”

***

Peggy must have been more annoyed than Steve thought, because she fired four shots at him. Each bullet hit the shield dead on and fell to the ground flattened. Scarier than that was the way that Bucky appeared behind her, knife ready to strike. For a just a moment his eyes had been flat pools. Then he was back across the room by the coffee pot, shoulders hunched in shame.

“I think we got a winner.” Howard gave Steve a critical once-over, completely oblivious to what had just happened. “But you might want to work on not looking completely terrified when they shoot at you. Now you,” he said, turning suddenly to Bucky, “I don’t know what you do, since you stubbornly refuse to be filmed or talked about.”

“It’s not voluntary.”

“From what talk I do have, I figured you have a way of getting where you want to go.” Probably only Steve noticed the guilty flick of Bucky’s eyes to Agent Carter. “And maybe some basic physiology stuff. So I got you some of the same armour as Cap. Long-range gun, short-range knives. Should cover all eventualities.”

***

“Still Tesseract surprised me.” Zola tapped one monitor with one finger. “For the next one I shall have to-”

***

They called it the Great Shriek. Its range was hard to judge, since it only affected those few people with a Talent, but from the Urals to Portugal Talents went to their knees, howling and clutching their heads.

In his surveillance room, surrounded by grainy black-and-white images of the torture, Zola went over keening.

Chuck Hudson, codename Fireball, cracked his head against the bathroom tiles when it happened and died five days later.

Erik Faber, the Talent Giftig attached to the Gestapo, was helpless to stop himself being mobbed to death along with his single bodyguard. Those under his watch agreed that it had been better than he deserved.

Marie Lizotte, who they called Jeanne d’Arc, managed to draw her sword. The sight of her gleaming armour and blazing halo was probably the reason she wasn’t run down on Oxford Street.

***

Steve was outlining his uniform ideas when he and Barnes started to scream. It was utterly simultaneous: Steve’s notebook slipped from nerveless fingers, Barnes’ mug shattered on the ground. And they fell to the ground clutching their heads.

“What the hell is happening?” said Stark. He’d put his arms out automatically to try and catch Steve, who must have outweighed him by seventy pounds or more. So he was on the floor too, one hand on Steve’s back. Steve was curled in on himself, hands clamped to either side of his head. Barnes was clawing at the floor.

Outside the lab there was a major standing over another screaming man. There were two more in the next lab and another in among the files. All of them were Talents. The only unaffected Talent she saw at a distance, and no one had the rank to take Major Cesay from the Prime Minister’s side. Major Cesay’s power was Talent nullification.

And then just as suddenly as it started, all the Talents stopped screaming.

“It was a Talent attack,” she said, back in the lab. Steve and Barnes were laid out on the floor, barely conscious. “Whoever is doing it must be in the building. If we could get Captain Rogers-”

“Might not be the case, Carter.” Stark waved a fistful of papers in the air. “Operative Group #6 in Bristol; Pollywog, Latarnik and Cormorant across the city.” One of his assistants shoved another paper at him. “Operative Group #1? They’re in _Italy_. What the hell was that?”

***

Schmidt opened the door of Zola’s workstation. Weber and Fischer were gone, which pleased him. Not that it was a simple matter to train up new technical people, but Tesseract had shown a refreshing lack of mercy when he destroyed his torturers. This close to him, bathed in Tesseract’s blue light, even the Red Skull was affected by the new Mad Talent’s powers. A piercing ringing drowned out other sounds and a metallic taste filled his mouth. But pain was a human thing that Schmidt had left behind, so he strode closer, carrying the containment cage with him.

Unlike the American Sergeant, Tesseract had given up his human body entirely, becoming a pure thing of energy. The innocuous blue cube floated in the middle of the room, surrounded by the fine dust that was the last remains of Weber and Fischer. It all fell to earth once Tesseract was contained. The cage also cut off his new defenses and so Schmidt waited for Zola to come to him.

“Will this power your designs, Doctor?”

“Yes! Absolutely! I saw his Talent over the screens, and I believe we have removed the wait. Maybe even the time limit too! I have such designs for this.”

“And I will have targets for you, Doctor. Get to work.”

***

Steve came to consciousness in fits and starts. The world faded in and out like a movie placed wrong in the projector. When he finally managed to keep his eyes open, Bucky was the first one he checked on. Someone had laid them both out together on the floor and covered them in the same blanket. His eyes were closed and his face was pale against the rough brown wool.

“Buck.” Relief flooded through him when Bucky’s eyes opened. They were clear and alert. “You okay?”

“Thought I’d have to kiss you awake,” muttered Bucky. His fingers lightly brushed against Steve’s.

Above them there was a great deal of noise as news filtered down. Codenames and places Steve had never heard of flashed past. Bucky’s hand plucked at Steve’s sleeve.

“I felt that before,” he said. “That was Tesseract.”

“In London? Same time as Coventry and Cardiff?”

“Not like they don’t have a way to make better Talents.” And at that Bucky went quiet and didn’t say a word until Phillips got there.

**APPENDIX THREE: TALENTS APPEARING IN PRECEDING REPORT**

**FIREBALL aka Hudson, Chuck**

**Talent attached to TOG #4. Could summon fireballs with his hands and displayed a limited control over their movement. Deceased.**

**JEANNE D’ARC aka Lizotte, Marie**

**Talent attached to the Free French. Possesses an enhanced physiology, a telekinetic shield, and a halo of light, but only when her sword is drawn.**

**PEVNOST (“Fortress”) aka Krizova, Briety Alta**

**Talent attached to the Czech resistance. Can link any two doorways he has previously passed through before, travelling instantly between the two.**

**ZED aka Cesay, Peter**

**Talent attached to the British Army. Can project a force that nullifies Talent powers within a certain radius.**

**GIFTIG (“Toxic”) aka Faber, Erik**

**Talent attached to the Gestapo. His skin was poisonous and he appeared to be able to poison food and water in his presence without touching it. Deceased.**

**SCHMIDT, JOHANN**

**Talent and leader of PROJECT HYDRA. Powers mostly unknown at this time. Facial disfigurement. Does not possess heartbeat or capacity for pain.**

**TESSERACT**

**Talent attached to PROJECT HYDRA. Possesses tendrils of blue energy that can disintegrate organic and non-organic. Also possesses a teleportation power. Linked with HYDRA super-weaponry. WARNING: injuring TESSERACT debilitates all Talents within a certain radius. May be linked to GREAT SHRIEK incident. Refer to full file.**

  
  



	4. We Go First, We Die First

War bloomed across Europe. The Howling Commandos destroyed Hydra bases, destroyed factories that spat out Hydra super-weapons faster than ever before. Shield and Winter and the Howling Commandos were in the news reels at home, in the papers, in comic books. But, just to remind them that they were not invincible, there were the death reports too.

 _Der Flieger_ , the very first Talent, was blown to pieces over London, body parts raining down along with the propaganda leaflets he was dropping. Operation Market Garden swallowed Talents by the dozen - _Cien_ , _Daegal_ , Misfire, Knight, _Der Ziegel_ , _Siegfried_ \- and after all those lists came through Bucky didn’t leave Steve’s side for three days straight.

And then there was word of Zola.

***

The Alps were full of snow and wind. Any exposed skin froze in moments. Just one hundred metres away, the train tracks hugged the mountain side. But between the Howling Commandos and their target was the gorge. There must had been an end to it, but the sheer rock walls continued downwards until they were lost in the white.

“Remember the time I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?” Bucky joined Steve at the edge, peering down into the abyss.

“Yeah, and I threw up?”

“Let’s just say I’m glad some of us get to skip the zipline. Wouldn’t want any payback.”  Bucky smiled across at him, and he looked like he had done that day on Coney Island with the wind whipping his hair. Kissing him, just like then, would have to wait. He did reach out and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Are you okay with this? Seeing Zola again?”

“Looking forward to it.” He kept smiling.

“You were right, Cap.” Gabe Jones looked up from his radio, one hand clamping the headset to his ear. “They’re opening the throttle. Wherever they want Zola, they want him there fast.”

“Let’s go say hello.”

Their shoulder patches say _We Go First_ and so they do. He would have to tell Bucky that riding the zipline was nothing like the Cyclone. Snow and ice stung his face, cold air settled into the bottom of his lungs. There were no screams of girls and boys being pleasantly scared, only the roar of the train.

Bucky had the easier time of it. He just appeared on the roof ahead of him, ready to catch him if he fell. He did the same for Gabe and then the train rounded the corner, the Commandos vanishing behind the mountain.

The train was long and made of dull metal. There were no windows, except for small skylights fore and aft. Not something for travelling in comfort. They half-crawled across the roof towards the door. The Cyclone definitely didn’t have a thin ladder to crawl down while the train roared past endless drops.

He threw a questioning look at Bucky who held up five fingers twice and then two. Only a dozen people then. Bucky vanished again, and a minute later the door slid open. On the metal floor just behind him was a Hydra soldier with his throat opened up. Eleven people.

It was cold inside the train too, their breath hanging in clouds in front of them. Gabe, making his way down the outside of the train, would have to content with the wind too, and Steve hoped that Bucky was monitoring the heartbeat up there.

They moved silently down the train too, past stacks of metal cases and crates. German words were stenciled onto each one in clean white letters. It had all been very neat and tidy back in the isolation ward where Steve had found- But this wasn’t the time to think about that.

Hydra soldiers were in the second carriage. They had conventional guns, but bullets don’t get past his shield and Hydra soldiers forget what Bucky can do right up until he appeared behind them.

The man in armour was slow, but he had a quick trigger finger. Steve got himself and his shield in front of Bucky just in time. Blue light tore open the carriage like a tin can and separated Steve from shield, Steve from Bucky.

Steve’s head had smashed pretty hard into the other wall, which was why the next few moments seemed to play out so slowly. The armoured man turned to fire on Steve for a second time and Bucky threw the shield at him to draw him off. He fired his pistol, sending up sparks and doing nothing else. When the second shot came it missed, but the shockwave was enough to launch Bucky out into thin air.

Steve didn’t recognise the growl that came from his own throat. He snatched up his shield and launched himself physically at the Hydra soldier. He fell back at every hit, the ring of metal on metal briefly overwhelming the sound of the rushing wind. His guns Steve smashed into useless scrap, his armour he dented.

The finishing move was Bucky’s though. He kicked out with both feet, armoured man tumbling slowly over the edge where he’d just been.

“Momentum,” he said from his place on the floor, “is a bitch. I think I dented the floor.” Steve watched him dumbfoundedly as he patted himself gingerly down.

“Jesus, Bucky.” He helped him up, hands lingering too long on his arms and his waist.

“Teleportation, Steve. Someone’s got to watch your back.”

He turned to the front of the train suddenly tense.

“Come on.”

He says nothing more as they walk on. Steve can guess who was up ahead.

***

Zola was just as Bucky remembered. The fussy wire-rimmed glasses. The neatly-knotted tie. The round face with a sour expression. Though instead of Weber and Fischer at either shoulder, there was only Gabe.

“Hey, asshole.” Not even Steve could have stopped him ‘porting forward, grabbing Zola by the neck, and throwing him to the floor. “Remember me?”

The jacket under his fingers had been some high-quality stuff. And Zola had gotten fat while Steve Rogers had gone to bed hungry just two years ago. What did that say about the world?

“Enough.”

Steve was taking him by the arm, gently drawing him away. With Bucky’s boot off Zola’s chest, the little man could breathe again. Which was more than he deserved.

“Bucky?” Steve’s thumb rubbing his arm, a tiny bit of hidden affection.

“I’m fine.” Casting his gaze at Zola and the bootprint on his chest. “Let’s get him back.”

***

Steve and Bucky always ended up sharing a tent. No one complained. Post-transformation, Steve took up a lot of space and Bucky’s excuse is that (also post-transformation) he’s agile enough to compensate. Alone in their tent, they could share some private and quiet intimacies. But there was another reason why they always shared.

That day they had levelled another Hydra facility. The operation had involved a long hike to the site, lugging a large amount of explosives, then using them on Hydra’s super tanks. Everyone had returned to camp exhausted, not interested in much besides food and sleep. Yet even in such a deep sleep, Steve was woken up by Bucky.

He was shivering, trying to claw his way out of something. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, his eyes moving rapidly behind his eyelids.

“Bucky,” said Steve, lowering his voice. Dungan had drawn the short straw for first watch that night. Hopefully he was on the other side of the camp. “Bucky, wake up.”

As soon as he touched him, Bucky jolted awake. The whites of his eyes were visible all the way around.

“It’s okay, Buck.”

“Steve?” He looked around their tent as if expecting to be somewhere else. Somewhere with tiled walls and metal floors.

“You’re out,” he said to those frantic eyes. He carefully put his hand on Bucky’s arm, resting it there.

“You. You saved me. Oh God, Steve.” Those eyes slid closed again. Boneless and shaking, he allowed Steve to pull him close where, if he had his way, Hydra could not hurt him.

***

“Hello, Zola.”

Zola turned away from the small blood stain he’d been examining. This cell was sparsely furnished with cot, table, and two chairs. Sitting in one of the chairs was Sergeant Barnes, his first live experiment. Not as successful as he’d hoped, given how many Hydra facilities had fallen thanks to this man and his partner.

He had not heard the door open, so he must have teleported in. An ability that had not developed until Sergeant Barnes had left his care, but it seemed that he was not included in the amnesia field despite that.

“Good… Excuse me, Sergeant. But I do not know what time of day it is.” The Sergeant did not tell him, which Zola thought would happen. He wouldn’t have said either. It was a small thing, but kept the subject off-balance. “Do your superiors know that you are here?”

“No one’s coming to rescue you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Barnes reached into a pocket and pulled out a bar of chocolate. It was difficult to get in Germany now, even for high-ranking members of Hydra. American servicemen are well-supplied. They traded the stuff for local women and souvenirs looted from battlefields. The same with coffee and nylon stockings.

All Sergeant Barnes did was break off a square and put it in his mouth.

“Wonder what you’re thinking about over there,” he said, folding the foil back over the chocolate. “On the other side.”

“The other side of what, Sergeant?” Though Zola knew what. They had primed this room well. The blood splatter, the uncomfortable furniture, the two-way mirror. Even the voices just barely audible from the surrounding rooms, the ones that could be moaning, screaming, or just ordinary conversation distorted.

“The other side of the strapped-down table. I remember that you didn’t like to get your hands dirty.” Barnes’ hands were clean, the uniform too. They had taken Zola’s clothes, but not offered a shower. “I think,” continued Barnes, “that you only touched me… twice. You slapped me awake, and you touched me to show your boss how you were doing with breaking me down.”

“Apparently not so well given that you are here.”

Barnes laughed, short and bitter.

“I did wonder one thing, Sergeant Barnes, if you would permit me my curiosity.” His eyes narrow suspiciously, but he doesn’t stop Zola from talking. “I wondered if you thought of your friend the Shield while you were in my hands. The Talent set that you ended up with shared many similarities to Shield’s. So I assumed that he was to the forefront of your mind.”

“When I first woke up, yeah, I thought of him. I thought of how to make him proud. Then while you were torturing me,” said Sergeant Barnes, eyes fixed on Zola unblinkingly, “I didn’t think of him at all.  That place would have dirted those memories.”

“Is he dirtied by his rescuing you?”

“No. But I still won’t forgive you, or any of Hydra, for making him see that.” He got to his feet, tucking the chocolate back into his pocket. “I’ve killed plenty of you with these abilities you forced on me.”

“And will you kill me with them, Sergeant Barnes?”

“If it were up to me I’d just shove you in front of a firing squad. So you best play nice with the Colonel when he gets here.”

He vanished, teleporting away to bring a report to his superiors, no doubt.

***

Bucky strolled up to the rest of the Howling Commandos, hands behind his back. His expression was one Steve recognised: the one that he wore just before he’d produce a treat. A bottle of Coca Cola, fresh oranges, extra cash scourged up from piecework and ready to be spent on drinks and dancing.

“What are you hiding?” he asked and received a wink in return.

“The fruits of our labour, Steve. Turns out that Zola had himself a couple of creature comforts with him.” What he had clutched in each hand was a dark green bottle with a wired-down cork.

Dernier went into raptures over the champagne, spouting long sentences in liquid French almost too fast for Gabe to translate. It was Falsworth who shook his head and reached out for the first bottle,

“All well and good to recite poetry to it, but someone should pop the cork.”

They shared out the bottles and drank it from tin and enamel cups. With his new metabolism, Steve couldn’t get drunk, but the champagne felt good all the same, all light and frothy bubbles. He certainly couldn’t have afforded this back in Brooklyn.

It was during Dugan’s story about a bar fight - there had been no champagne to hand, but a bottle of bourbon made a good weapon in a pinch - when Steve noticed that Bucky had vanished. He thought that maybe he’d just gone to the can, but when he didn’t come back, Steve made his excuses and left the Commandos with the last bottle.

The night air was chilly but fresh.  Snow hadn’t fallen down here yet, and all the stars were out. If he had paints, he’d have liked to try his hand at capturing it.

Bucky was hiding in the lee of the mess hall, back pressed up against the wall, legs out in front of him. He was gasping for air, just like one of Steve’s asthma attacks.

“Just breathe,” he said, rubbing the tense back. He was struck by sudden deja-vu, the memory of Bucky doing this very same thing for him. “Just breathe. Just breathe.”

Deep shuddering breaths filled Bucky’s lungs, made him shiver. The cold air wasn’t very good for them, Steve caught himself thinking. But this was Bucky with his healthy lungs.

“What happened? Was it Zola?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Bucky’s eyes were shining and he cut off Steve before he could reply. “I know. But later. Later. Please, just-” Bucky pulled him down, mouth on his. His hands were tangled in that red, white, and blue uniform, trying to get even closer. But Steve was strong enough to pull Bucky off him.

“We’re _outside_.” Army camps never truly slept. Anyone could walk by and see that. Bucky looked at him, wrists in Steve’s hands, mouth parted, and grey shadows under his eyes.

“Let’s go inside then.” He kissed one of Steve’s hands and his lips were cold against his fingers. “Don’t make me beg.”

It was different. They had been together long enough to get the full spectrum of experiences - and repeat most of them with new parahuman strength and agility - but Bucky had never been like this before. It was almost like he was drunk, or somewhere else in his head. And he refused to let Steve stop, no matter how many sobs he suppressed or how many nail marks he left in Steve’s shoulders The cold had seeped into his very bones and Steve tried his best to warm him back up. God bless whoever got him this private space and this bed he could just about squeeze Bucky onto as well.

“They got me to talk to Zola,” Bucky said afterwards. His eyes were red.

“Why?”

“People are more likely to give you what you want when you got someone to sic on them.”

“Don’t talk like that. You’re not a stick to beat people with.”

Bucky’s hands, even under Steve’s blanket, even trapped between himself and Steve’s body, were still freezing. Steve felt them move upwards, leaving trails of cold across his chest, his neck, his face.

“You’re so good, Steve Rogers. You would have said no.”

“I can’t say what I’d do, Buck.” He took both of Bucky’s hands, pressing them in between his own. He used to be a furnace that Steve curled up against in New York winters.

“They’re pumping Zola for intel right now, Steve.” Cold lips brushed his hands. “Whatever happens…”

“I promise not to do anything too stupid.” Steve dropped Bucky’s hands instead sweeping him into a tight hug, willing all of his heat into him. “Got to take care of my best guy, don’t I?”

Was that one of those silent sobs? There was definitely a hitch in Bucky’s shoulders. But Bucky said nothing. There was just one cold hand resting on Steve’s back.

* * *

 

**APPENDIX FOUR: THE TESTIMONY OF DOCTOR ARNIM ZOLA**

**WARNING: This report is classified PAPERCLIP and VALKYRIE**

**If you are not cleared for ALL codewords listed above IMMEDIATELY commit this report to secure document storage.**

**UNDER NO ACCOUNT READ BEYOND THIS PAGE**

 


	5. We Will All Go Together When We Go

“Word from the Pacific we’ve lost Riot and Thunderclap in-”

“-and Seeker’s gone too. Send-”

Bucky sat in Colonel Phillip’s office, one steady hand covering one trembling hand. This close to the offices and the radio operators and the interrogation chambers, he could hear everything. He stroked the back of his shaking left hand like it was a frightened cat. But at least Zola himself hadn’t appeared up here to tell him what a good weapon he was.

“-we keep losing Talents like this, the next war we could find ourselves on the back foot.”

“We’ll want to keep Shield on board for sure. The Indestructible Man, yes. And maybe-”

“Your only choice is extraction, Zola. You or-” the rustle of papers “- Johann Schmidt. So give us the intel and we’ll have you in the States by next week.”

Bucky sat still and listened to that, the cold spreading from his stomach out to his fingers and toes, until they sent him off with a pat on the back and two bottles of champagne.

When he woke up, the events of the evening were blurry in a way that had nothing to do with the half-cup of fizz he drank. He remembered holding onto Steve and - God bless, Steve Rogers - he’d held onto him in return. Steve was still asleep, blond eyelashes spread out on pale skin, mouth slightly slack. The same face he’d woken up to for years. He was so goddamn cute.

Bucky was agile enough now to sneak out of bed without waking Steve. His mission - _don’t think about missions right now_ \- his job was to bring his fella some coffee. Make up for last night.

Dernier treated coffee like an art form and he had a pot on the go when Bucky strolled up.

“Morning, Sarge,” said Jones, waving a mug at him.

“You got another bottle behind your back?” Dungan groaned when Barnes revealed his empty hands.

“Hey, Sergeant, put an end to this for us,” said Morita. “So who would win in a race between you and the Captain?”

“See,” said Dugan, “I reckon because the Cap is stronger-”

“But Barnes is more agile.”

“And in an obstacle course that would help, but in a straight race-”

“Is _this_ what you talk about behind our backs? I’m disappointed,” Bucky shook his head, grinning. “And I’m fairly sure there’s some Army reg about this.”

“...So who would win?”

“Obviously the Captain.” Barnes accepted both mugs of coffee from Dernier. The radio operators weren’t far away and they, and Bucky, know that they’ve lost Starlight and Wires too. “Always let your superior officer win.”

When he got back to Steve’s, he found him frantically pulling on a shirt.

“Going somewhere?” He kicked the door closed, keeping out the world. “Hey, handsome.”

“Christ, Buck.”

Steve sat back on the edge of the bed, sagging at the knees. He’d buttoned up his shirt wrong. So he’d been that worried. What had Bucky been like last night?

“Thought I’d get us some coffee.” Their fingers brushed as he passed the cup over. Steve was watching his face for something so Bucky gave him a smile. “I got to take care of my best guy.”

Steve took his hand, the one without the mug, running his thumb over the fingers like he was looking for something. He would have questions, and Bucky wanted to fight off the outside world as long as he could.

“Steve. What are you doing after the war?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he said, coffee halfway to his face.

“Really?”

“Is this why you were-” He paused, trying to find the word. Probably trying to avoid setting Bucky off again. What a pair they were. “-upset last night?”

“I just wanted you to know that I do what you do. You know that right?”

He kissed the back of Bucky’s hand. It was like he reached into Bucky’s chest and squeezed his heart. He was so damn cute, he was so damn good.

“A nicer apartment would be a good start. A bigger bed. When was the last time we fit on one properly?”

“London. But that’s your fault for getting so big.”

“I know.”

“Would be nice to have a bathroom that we don’t share with the floor.”

Bucky watched Steve smile and mentally pick out curtains. Perhaps for the nice Quonset Hut that they’d shove them in, waiting for the next war. The Army wanted to hold onto the Talents they had.

 _“Yes, you say you’ll choose me, but the Army knows how to push your buttons too, don’t they Steve,”_ is what he didn’t say and Steve could see something in his face.

There was a knock on the door before either of them could say anything and Bucky ‘ported to the door.

“Morita.”

“They’re getting everyone together, Sarge. Ten minutes with Colonel Phillips.”

“Did they say what it was about?” Steve came up behind him. He could still feel Steve’s warmth on his hand.

“Intel they got out of Zola.”

“We’ll be there, Jim.”

“Steve,” said Bucky once Morita left. “Remember what you promised. Don’t do anything stupid.”

And then it was time to teleport away, because, unlike Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes had learnt to run away.

***

“So according to my new best friend, Zola, there’s one Hydra base remaining.” Colonel Phillips gave a nod to the projectionist. The picture behind him changed into a mountainside with cathedral-like windows embedded into the rockface. “Sunk five-hundred feet into the Alps. Containing precisely two Talents, Tesseract and the Red Skull.”

All sides had been hemorrhaging Talents. The patch on Bucky’s and Steve’s shoulders says _We Go First_ . Dark humour always thrived bases and down in foxholes: the common joke is that it should say _We Die First_.

“And from here they will launch an attack in twenty-four hours to burn the entire Eastern Seaboard. Now, there is precisely one man here on our side that has met both of them.” Phillips’ eyes flicked across to Bucky. They’d debriefed Bucky enough in the hospital (and they’d wondered why he’d been so unstable) but he got to his feet, not looking anyone in the eye.

“Tesseract’s only been seen the once,” he said in clipped and practised sentences. “I shot him once in the shoulder. The blue stuff he has dissolves things. He can teleport too. And wounding him hurts Talents.” He paused, swallowing. “There was the Shriek last year. I told intel that he’s probably gone through the process.”

Tied to a bench and tortured, made stronger by being driven mad. Steve made his fists uncurl.

Still standing, Bucky continued.

“So he’ll most likely have some extra powers. The Red Skull I saw the once. I don’t know his powers. He doesn’t have a heartbeat. Not much human in him.”

The picture changed again to one of a man. His skin was like thin leather stretched over his skull and his nose was a pit in the middle of his face. Bucky sat back down, lips set into a grim line. He did not look at the picture.

“We got anyone who could break in?” said Dugan.

“And able to get here in under twenty-four hours? We do not. Majority of Allied Talents are pushing towards Berlin as we speak.”

“Well what are we supposed to do? Knock on the front door?”

Steve could feel the idea building up in his head. And it was closely followed by the knowledge that Bucky was going to be annoyed with him.

“Why not?” All eyes turned to him. Even Bucky took his eyes off his hands. “I’ll go through the front.”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

Sometimes he hated being right.

“What choice do we have, Buck?”

“A better one!” He appeared suddenly behind Phillips, “I’ll do it. I’m the teleporter!”

But no one but the Howling Commandos remembered that.

“Sorry, but we need to draw attention.” The look Bucky was giving him was the exact same one he’d give him after Steve stumbled home with a black eye or a split lip. “And I need you to find me afterwards. You can’t find Red Skull-” statement hopefully not covered by the amnesia effect “-but you can track me. You can find me in a mountain, can’t you?”

“I can find you from fifty miles away, Rogers.” His mouth was pressed into a disapproving line. “But what part of this is ‘not doing something stupid’?”

***

Steve had bid goodbye to all the Howling Commandos, of course, and they had parted with a hug. But it hadn’t been a real one, nothing more than a pat on the back. So Bucky had gone ahead, and waited, leaning against a tree.

Parahuman reflexes were good enough for Steve to spot him and stop the bike.

“What am I going to do with you, Steve Rogers?”

There was never enough time in this war. Bucky crossed over to him in two strides, and kissed him. If he closed his eyes, he could be back in their drafty apartment, wishing Steve goodbye before work. Even down to Steve’s hand in the small of his back.

“You’ll be keeping an eye on me?” he asked as they broke for air.

“When have I ever stopped? Come back in one piece.” He forced himself to let go of the jacket, and step back. “I want to make it to ten years, you punk. At least!”

“I’ll take you dancing. And I’ll learn how to this time.”

“Finally.” He took another step back as Steve put both hands back on the handlebars. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

They’d been together since 1936. A flying man had carried the Olympic Flame into Berlin, and anything had seemed possible. Bucky hoped, as he watched Steve drive away, that what they had wouldn’t end in 1945.

***

Red Skull was waiting for Steve when he was dragged in. The cold white light coming through the windows hid nothing, lighting up his red skin and skull-like face like an image from hell. He was holding something that Steve took at first glance for a skinny lunch pail made of the same dull metal as Hydra’s weapons.

“Ah, Shield. I am a big fan of your films and magazines.” He passed off the case to an assistant and strolled up, hands clasped behind his back. “But how arrogant of you to assume you could single-handedly take this fortress. Of course, America’s _first_ Talent would embody that arrogance.”

“Big talk from someone who has to tie a man to a table.”

Red Skull only smiled and hit him, just the once. His fist drove precisely into Steve’s stomach, making him fold nearly in two. His Hydra guards struggled to haul him upright again.

( _And across the way, at the first hint of increased heart rate, Bucky Barnes stood up._ )

“There are limits to what even you can do, Captain.”

The place he’d been punched had totally lost all feeling. And when the Red Skull lifted Steve’s chin, his fingers were like a dead man’s.

“What made you so special?” Where he touched Steve’s jaw, spots of numbness formed.

“Nothing. I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.”

Howling Commandos smashed through the window and Red Skull’s head whipped around to look. And when Bucky appeared on his right, he shoved a knife right between Red Skull’s ribs. Red Skull barely noticed.

“Sergeant Barnes.”

He grabbed him by the throat. Ignoring Bucky (and Bucky’s kicks and Bucky’s punches) like a normal person would ignore a spitting house cat, he flung him at Steve just as he fought free of his guards. The American Talents went down in a tangle.

Red Skull stopped only for his case. He didn’t even pull the knife out as he left the room.

Bucky flipped himself onto his feet.

“You okay?” he shouted over the gunfire. Around his neck, the Red Skull’s handprint was picked out in dead, white skin.

“Yeah! We need to get to Red Skull!”

“Told you this was a stupid plan!” Bucky grabbed his hand, pulling him upright. With his shield back on his arm, they both ran out into the last Hydra base.

Outside it was all eerily identical corridors. They took a right at first because Bucky’s knife was lying on the floor. The blade was totally clean and there was no blood trail to follow. They tore through Hydra soldiers, but with no heartbeat to track, they lost Red Skull. They ended up at a crossroads, all three other doors closed.

“Steve.”

Bucky’s gun was pointed firmly in the direction of the door to their left. Standing in front of it was a glowing blue outline, like a sketch of a young man. There was the faint scritch-scratch of another Talent power at work.

“You see this too, right?” Bucky said with a faint note of pleading.

“Yeah, I see it.”

The sketch retreated backwards floating gently above the floor and vanished through the door.

“Tesseract,” said Bucky.

“Can we trust him?”

“What choice do we have?”

They saw him three more times. The next one was an arm and head passing through another door. Then when they gained a foothold inside the _Valkyrie_ he was hovering above the Hydra soldiers they had taken down. He vanished into the cockpit.

That room looked empty, filled with metal objects and the muffled roar of the engines. Bucky shook his head - no one here. At least no one with a heartbeat. They passed complicated shapes in wire and metal to the front, where there were three seats arranged around the bubble of a windscreen. All were empty. Banks of buttons and switches were laid out in front of them. The central one had a grainy screen and, just in case they didn’t recognise the coastline, New York was labeled with a neat target.

It was the click of bootheels that gave them their split second warning. The Hydra gun blasted a hole into the window where they’d just been, filling the cockpit with howling wind.

Red Skull was strong, as strong as Steve. When he touched them, the feeling died in their skin, and the Hydra Talent did not feel pain. The fight was a desperate one, trying to break enough important stuff to keep him down and away from his guns. And then Red Skull threw Steve shield-first into the machinery and cracked it. Blue light filled the cockpit.

“A poor effort,” said Red Skull. His voice came from very far away as though underwater through the roaring in Steve’s ears and the pain in his head. Across from him, Bucky was trying to stand on his feet but failing. “And you could have been gods. A waste.”

He turned and walked, calmly and unhurriedly. Steve was sure he’d broken at least one of those legs, but he didn't even limp on the way to his gun. And just next to Steve, the blue, glowing outline of a man appeared for the last time just above a blue, glowing cube.

He met Bucky’s eyes and nodded.

Red Skull bent down to get his gun and that was when Bucky teleported over, half-falling, half-pushing him off balance. Steve grabbed the back of his collar and pulled him the rest of the way, down onto the cube.

Tesseract’s revenge was not pretty. Red Skull’s body lit up, veins and sinews visible through his clothes and flesh. And apparently there was a part of him that could feel pain still because he screamed. He didn’t stop until Tesseract had collapsed onto himself and pulled the Red Skull along with him.

Steve and Bucky helped each other stagger to the controls, pain fading, feeling returning.

***

“Hello? Can anyone hear me? This is Captain Rogers. We’re on the _Valkyrie_ and we’re-”

“Steve, I’m here!” Agent Carter seized the microphone.

“The Red Skull’s dead, but this machine’s still going.”

“Where are you? Give me your coordinates, I’ll find you a safe landing site.”

“There’s no time for a safe landing. We’ll be over New York before we find one.”

“Let me get Howard in here and we’ll see what we can do-”

“We don’t have the time, Peggy. I’m going to put her down in the water.”

“Steve that’ll-”

“I know. But I don’t have a choice. People will die.”

His voice was replaced with another one.

“Carter, it’s Barnes. Whoever talks to my folks after this, just tell them I was with Steve at the end. They’ll understand.”

“Of course.” Her eyes were stinging already, and she was sure they could hear the wobble in her voice over the radio. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Peggy,” Steve again. “Thank you. For believing in me.” Even at a time like this he was comforting her. “It’s okay, I’m not alone.”

“Steve-”

“Goodbye, Peggy.”

***

“You could still teleport away, Bucky,” said Steve once the radio fell silent.

“Momentum, Steve. I’d be smashed against the ice.” He put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s-”

“It’s all been borrowed time. Ever since you got me out of Zola’s lab.”

Steve put his hand on Bucky’s, tangling their fingers together, gripping hard.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to ten years.” Ahead of them the ice, just touched by the weak sunlight.

“Me too.”

The ice stretched forever and Steve turned away to look at Bucky’s face, just as familiar as his own.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

***

**WARNING: the following communication is classified under codename VALKYRIE**

**If you are NOT cleared for ALL codewords listed above IMMEDIATELY commit report to secure storage**

**UNDER NO ACCOUNT READ BEYOND THIS PAGE**

**FEBRUARY 24 1945**

**Codenames SHIELD and WINTER missing in action. Coordinates unknown. RED SKULL confirmed dead. Status of TESSERACT unknown: presumed dead.**

**Further reports to follow.**

***

Steve was, for once, safely in bed and behaving himself when Bucky returned. In fact he had the mending out and was putting neat stitches into one of Bucky’s socks. With the blanket over his shoulders, he looked a little like a grandma, but Bucky was going easy on him.

“Did you get the papers?” Steve asked in a hoarse whisper. Poor kid had just about coughed his lungs up. But he’d beat this second bout of pneumonia (a closer thing than Bucky would admit to himself so soon after his Ma) and Bucky was sure he’d be coming home all beat up soon enough.

“Had to fight half of Brooklyn for them.” He’d tucked the three he could get under his arm and now he fanned them out like a magician. “The Times got the best picture. But I’m sure the artist will set me straight.”

“No, that’s right.” Steve had it in his hands. The whole front page had been given over to it. The flying man hung suspended in midair, Olympic flame blazing in his hand. They’d heard it over the radio, them and the rest of the world it seemed.

“Tell me if there’s anything new. I’ll get us some lunch.” Bucky ruffled Steve’s hair, thankful for the normal temperature under his fingers. “Chicken noodle soup alright?”

“Thanks, Buck.” Steve coughed into his elbow and caught Bucky going tense. “I’m fine. Honestly.”

“I know, bud.” He patted his narrow shoulder, feeling the bones through the blanket. “Hey, maybe you’ll be next to fly. I’ll tie a string to your ankle and charge fifty cents a look.”

“Flying would be nice.” Even the inner stories were given over to the flying man. They had a shot of the guy’s face - all square jaw, blond hair, pale eyes. “It’s like anything’s possible.”

“Try not to jump out of the window before I finish the soup, okay?” Bucky got up off the side of bed, but Steve’s hand grabbed his shirtsleeve.

“Thanks, Bucky. I probably woulda-”

“It’s nothing, bud.” Bucky would rather cut Steve off than hear him talk about dying. Steve was all spirit and fists and stubborn jaw. Even if the doctors kept telling him that he wasn’t likely to make thirty, Bucky will still stop up his ears. Steve was too stubborn to go like that, like his Ma did. He put both his arms around Steve, and goddamn he was even skinnier than usual. “What would I even do without you?”

1936, the year Sarah Rogers died, the year Steve beat pneumonia for the second time, the year the flying man brought the Olympic Flame to Berlin. The year that Steve lifted his head and kissed Bucky on the mouth.

Bucky was taken aback for a very long moment, right up until some part of brain started shouting that he’s more debonair than that.

“Jesus, Rogers, didn’t I teach you anything?”

And he lifted Steve’s chin with two fingers and kissed him back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title stolen blatantly from Tom Lehrer's song of the same name, which is about a different kind of bomb.
> 
> Penultimate chapter! Thank you for all the kudos, bookmarks, and hits. See you all for the final one.


	6. Lazarus

They slept tangled together in the ice. It grew over them and in layers as the war ended and the next one begun. Heartbeats slowed down to a crawl, one beat a week, a month, a year, and then nothing. They were alive, but they were lost and waiting for someone to wake them.

***

“Cold in here. You trying to keep them on ice?”

Director Fury didn’t seem to notice the cold, despite what he said. His only concession was to stick his hands in his pockets. Dr. Bruce Banner, on the other hand, wore a padded coat, gloves, and thick socks. From within the depths of his fleece-lined hood his breath emerged in big, white plumes.

“It’s not like you can defrost people in a microwave. I stick them in the heat right away, it would kill them.”

The two men lay in gel-lined pods. They could've been sleeping if they weren't surrounded by wires and machines. In what might have been coincidence, or perhaps Coulson’s work, the wires were colour-coded red, white, and blue.

“I mean,” said Banner, “I’m not an expert in cryostasis. But, lucky for us, this isn’t cryostasis. It’s a miracle.”

“Didn’t know they did PhDs in Miracles.”

“They sometimes called Talents ‘Miracles’. Back in their day.” And if Banner’s smile was a little rueful then Fury didn’t say anything.

“Brought you something to consider.” Fury had two manila folders under one arm. He held them out to Banner with a look that told him to get to considering it fast.

Each one had a neat printed label stuck with military precision in the upper-right corner.

SHIELD

CAPTAIN ROGERS, STEVEN GRANT

said one.

WINTER

SERGEANT BARNES, JAMES BUCHANAN

said the other.

“Their files? Fury, we learnt about Shield and Winter in grade school. Even played us the Winter video with a timer to show us the amnesia effect.”

“There’s a hell of a lot more information beyond grade school.” Fury gave him the look. Having only the one eye merely condensed the look down into a laser-like focus. “This is the stuff that’s still classified. And I used more than one favour to get hold of it. Feel free to come out of the cold while you read it.”

That was definitely not a question.

“We’ll use my office then.”

Banner’s office was up a few floors and down a layer or two of security. It was quite small, but the attached lab more than made up for that. His research assistants just about fainted when Fury stalked past.

Shield’s file was about what he expected. Whoever had made this copy had included the pictures too, and he recognised the first one from the History Channel. Pre-transformation Rogers leant against some Brooklyn fire escape, smiling down at the camera. A happier Barnes had his arm slung across those narrow shoulders. The first 4-F rating gave way to accolades and press releases. Heroics were spelt out, hinted at, or locked off by codewords. At the back there was genuine grief that he’d been lost, and someone had kept track of Howard Stark’s private efforts to find him.

Winter’s started off okay. He’d made sergeant, received special sniper training and excelled. Then the capture had happened. The Army had attempted to debrief him several times. All but one try was abortive, ending with a note that Barnes had left the interview without permission. The one successful session had been with Rogers in attendance, the other man doing a lot of the talking. There was the hospital stay (also torrid) and recommendations for Petaluma.

Petaluma had not been discussed in grade school. College had been when Banner had gotten his hand on all the data and all the terrible pictures. Those Talents that had been taken there had been classed as Mad Talents and that was the conclusion of Barnes’ doctors too.

“Ridiculous.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Fury leant forward. “But what I see is a Talent whose powers we don’t know and will never know.”

“But does that mean Mad Talent, Fury? This was 1943 - six years after the first Talents appeared. No one knew much about it. Can we take their word that Barnes isn’t just someone we’d diagnose with PTSD today?”

“All I’m saying is we should keep Barnes on the ice-”

“This isn’t the forties. No lobotomies, no keeping people on ice.”

“You’re the doctor. And you’ll be the one to handle the wild card if he goes haywire.”

“I don’t want to hurt people, Fury, not if I don’t have to. Look.” He pushed Barnes’ file forward, “They shoved him back onto the front with only his best friend standing between him and Petaluma and they ended up saving the world. You don’t have to worry about Barnes if we have Rogers too.”

“This your official opinion, Dr Banner?”

“It is.” Banner gathered up his coat. “There’s plenty that would call me a Mad Talent too.”

“Don’t let it get personal, Banner.”

“Little late for that. S.H.I.E.L.D’s namesake is thawing in the basement.”

***

Bucky went from unconsciousness to upright in seconds, before his brain had even grasped what was wrong. He was alone in a small room. The white walls and metal bed screamed hospital. And Steve was nowhere near by.

None of the heartbeats outside were Steve. The one window showed a building opposite, but none of the heartbeats matched. In that direction, the nearest was seven feet away and no one was hovering above the street. He was surrounded by people in one building.

“Sergeant Barnes, good morning.”

A good-looking dame entered the room, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. This was part of the lie too. Someone had faked a hospital room in the middle of a building. It must be Petaluma. Steve would not have allowed this, so they must have been separated as they were rescued.

“Are you alright, Sergeant? You look pale. Would you like to sit down? A glass of water?”

Steve’s heartbeat was the one Bucky could pick out of thousands. He’d found him from fifty miles away and through a mountain. And he found him again.

Steve stood in the middle of another fake hospital room - white walls, metal bed, one window - facing a good-looking woman with masses of curly brown hair.

“Where is this really?” Steve said with that stubborn tilt to his jaw. They’d lied to him too and it broke Bucky’s heart because why would Steve be sent to Petaluma?

Two men entered the room dressed like no orderlies Bucky had ever seen. They were all in black and armoured and armed. Steve and Bucky had none of that.

Bucky threw the water jug at one, ‘porting behind them before it even shattered. A kick to the back of the knee while the guy was out balance brought him down. Then he slammed the helmeted head against the floor until he stopped trying to get up. Steve chose a more direct route and threw the other one through the wall. It was thin plywood like a movie set.

“Run!”

And, thank God, the plane crash had put some sense into Steve because he leapt through the hole with him. Above them sounded a woman’s voice,

“All Agents, Code Thirteen! All Agents!”

“What’s happening?” shouted Steve over her.

“Petaluma. Must be.” They burst through double doors into a corridor with tall windows and many suited men and women. There was no time to be glad that Steve was alive. “Left!”

They shoved and hit anyone who stood in the way. Down the corridor, down the stairs. When they came out on the upper gallery of a glass and steel lobby, they didn’t bother with the last flight of stairs. Going straight through the door unleashed a roar of noise that was completely New York yet...

They slowed almost simultaneously. There were lights and crawling ads splashed across buildings and glass facades… and underneath it all, it could be Times Square.

***

“I hate to say I told you so, Fury,” muttered Banner to himself. On his tablet screen, Barnes and Rogers were making their way to the street. “But I-” He had to make a grab for the door handle as the car peeled out of the garage. At least the windows were blacked-out so only the driver saw him close his eyes. Those horns sounded very close. But somehow they managed to block off Time Square’s traffic and surround the other two Talents without dying.

Rogers and Barnes were in the middle of the road, frozen in the face of the screens and lights. They looked different untethered from Banner’s machines. Some guys got all the luck and their Talents turned them into models.

When Fury got out of his car, Rogers was the first to snap out of it. He put a protective hand on Barnes’ chest. No doubt he could snap Fury in half if he wanted to (and if Fury allowed him) but the Director looked completely unphased.

“At ease, soldiers.”

If anything both of them seemed to ready themselves. Barnes had taken his eyes off Fury, watching the cars and the agents that were emerging. His gaze was measured. Banner swore that their eyes met even through the tinted windscreen. Just in case the Other Guy was needed, he took off his seatbelt.

“Sorry for the performance back there, but we thought it was better to ease you into this.”

“Into what?”

“You’ve been asleep. For seventy years.”

Barnes’ head snapped back round to Fury, all calm gone. He went weak at the knees and Rogers was the only thing between him and the asphalt. A key difference between their files had been family. Rogers was an orphan. Barnes had had both parents alive and three sisters.

“Seventy years?” said Barnes, perhaps to Rogers, perhaps to the thin air.

“‘Fraid so.” Fury’s one eye went from Rogers to Barnes, from Shield to Winter. “But we can discuss this away from the public. We didn’t defrost you just to cut you open.”

“This isn’t Petaluma?” said Rogers.

That was certainly a trigger for Barnes. Even from the car, Banner could see Barnes’ hands tighten on Rogers.

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. Named after you.”

There was no question of them going in seperate cars and Banner wasn’t about to call up the Other Guy to break them up. So both of them ended up in the back of Banner’s car: Rogers in the middle seat next to Barnes. There’d be time enough later to talk to them.

Rogers still had his arm around Barnes. He watched Banner, and the driver, and what was outside the window, but mostly he watched the man next to him. For his part Barnes sat quietly, head down and hands in his lap.

They were always close. Not just now, but during the escape they’d been no further than arms-length from each other. When they’d come out of the ice, they’d been so tangled together it had been hard to see where one ended and the other began. Waking up alone and quickly discovering they were in a lie, it wasn’t a surprise that they’d cling to each other.

When their car slid back into underground parking, Barnes lifted his head and moved his lips slightly. But Fury had prepared for enhanced hearing and the microphone in the back sent the words to Banner’s phone.

“Steve?” was what Barnes had said.

In the mirror, Banner watched Rogers sub-vocalise back.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think Carter told my folks?”

That would be Peggy Carter, founding member of S.H.I.E.L.D. Banner felt more than a little guilty about eavesdropping on a conversation like this.

“Everything good.” Rogers eyes met Banner’s in the mirror and Banner went back to his phone. “What do you think?”

No wonder Barnes had the codename Winter. His gaze on Banner’s neck was like cold water being dumped down the back of his shirt.

“Same as usual. Until the end of line.”

“Same here.”

Banner risked another glance in the rear-view mirror just in time to see Rogers squeeze Barnes’s shoulders. All the microphone caught was “You know I-” before the car stopped. Agents were waiting ready: the one at the front had the promising start of a black eye. Rogers let go of Barnes in a hurry.

“We’re making friends, Steve,” said Barnes at a normal volume.

“Just like old times.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And all done. Thank you for everyone who has read, enjoyed, and sent me lovely kudos. I hope to do a sequel so watch this space.
> 
> Godlike is a fun RPG from Arc Dream. I borrowed a few of their Talents. Der Flieger, the Super-Man, Cormorant, Cien, Daegal, Misfire, Der Ziegel, Siegfried, and the Indestructible Man are all from their source book. I also borrowed a few events from their super-detailed WW2 timeline.


End file.
